HalfOfLancelot

A Slightly Round Table

i want to exist. i want to exist. i want to exist.
she won't let me

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Ranefer Antar / Hephaestus - Olympus Academy

" I exist as I am, that is enough. " - Walt Whitman

_{⧱ ⧱ Up&Up ♦ Coldplay ⧱ ⧱ Don't Let Me Down ♦ The Chainsmokers ft. Daya ⧱ ⧱ Cherry Wine ♦ Hozier ⧱ ⧱ To Be Alone ♦ Hozier ⧱ ⧱}

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_{There is a flower within my heart
Daisy, Daisy}

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Name:

Ranefer Antar

Nickname:

Ferris, Ronny, Nef

Birth Date:

04 / 18 / 1993

Age:

23

Gender:

Male

Sexuality:

Homosexual

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_{Daisy, Daisy give me your heart, do
I'm half crazy all for the love of you}

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In Depth Appearance:

Wide eyes, dark circles, and a heavy weight on his back. They dull and brighten intermittently, tied to the pucker of bright, bright lips. Slung around sinews of muscle earned and earned through fiery work, are tinged, sand stone skin, rough and calloused and wrapped around leather. No smiles on a jaw cut with fine ice, smoothed over the lines of high cheekbones and sunken skin washed under the bags of his eyes. A mess of hunched over bones bent on hiding the lithe muscles always a coiled cobra eager to strike. Unwanted rage hide in the curl of long fingers and gnarled knuckles, in the stomp of muscled thighs that have known the true pain of standing endless under the hot sun that burned his skin.

Clunky skin, gnarled and broken, twisted over smooth, cut bone settles in the fine upholstery of golden legs. A work slaved over days, months, years, to aim for a perfection undeserved. A stark contrast to the tired eyes are the sun beam rays of metallic legs, all hard lines and jutting metal - a sleekness hidden beneath the bent metal. It moves and breathes with the skin it latches onto, keeping the dull pain of lost limbs at bay. Adaptation is the cornerstone of the golden material, trimmed in black as it twists and wraps and forms to compliment the situation. Plates over feet, twisting into toes and a steep arch beneath that curve the soles into a elegant mimic of human feet. More proud of these than of himself, a pride evident in the sullen gleam of his tired eyes.

Clothing Style:

Things that a person can hide in: sweaters, hoodies, jackets, long sleeves, scarves, endless layers. Things an individual can stick their hands in and cover their face. Hats and beanies, a numerous amount of coats from a closet dedicated to heavy, outer layers make almost an entire ensemble. The pants act as a sharp contrast; the plates of the prostheses move at a constant rate, catching on loose material easily. They don't discriminate fabric, tearing and shredding polyester and denim with ease. An exact measurement tightens pants enough that the material remains hovering over the metal, allowing it to move and whir in peace. But the allure of sweatpants never fades and pairs are kept during moments when the legs are no longer needed and comfort above all else is the top priority.

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_{It won't be a stylish marriage
I can't afford the carriage}

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Quirks/Oddities/Habits

◬ When plans and ideas come to mind, Ranefer mumbles their exact needs and specifications under his breath in rapid succession. He'll do this until he's able to write everything down.
◬ When talking to people, Ranefer stares at his feet. When talking to an authority figure, he'll look them directly in the eyes and stand rigidly straight.
◬ When being talked to, Ranefer holds his breath until he's able to speak.
◬ Everyday, Ranefer will take two showers; one in the morning and one at night. After the second shower, Ranefer often takes a bath, reads, and drinks in solitude there. For a long ass time.
◬ Even in the hot heat of summer, Ranefer will always gravitate toward things that are warm.

Likes:

◬ Cats. Cats. Cats. Especially Scottish Folds and Egyptian Maus. A-and Siamese Cats too... uh. The list is actually quite long.
◬ Astronomy
◬ Robotics
◬ Music While Working
◬ Baths
◬ Holing up and creating things for days at a time
◬ Warm, Cozy Things (especially fire places)

Dislikes:

◬ Cars
◬ Wheelchairs
◬ The Cold
◬ Being Stared At
◬ His Temper
◬ Being Told To Calm Down
◬ Bath Time Being Interrupted

Fears:

◬ Finding a reason not to make things anymore. To lose his muse and his creativity.
◬ Being hit, punched, kicked, hurt in anyway by someone close to him. Being taken advantage of.
◬ What he's capable of when losing control

Personality:

◬ Explosive ◬ Self-Defeating ◬ Introverted ◬ Inquisitive ◬

Father of volcanoes. The Romans feared Vulcan, as they very well should have. Mt. Saint Helens. Krakatoa. Volcanoes contained an explosive force of fire and brimstone, rained down ashes days after in an aftermath of their anger. Unfortunately, Ranefer shows little difference. A bubbling, molten fury hides beneath the frail form hidden in the warmth of cozy sweaters. A temper only amplified by his lineage seethes beneath the surface first. The magma displaces itself, bubbles to the surface, a churning force in his stomach. And then it lets go, spitting fire and rage, vomiting words he can't hear beyond the ringing tinnitus of anger shoving itself in a heartbeat in his ears. And that constant beating, heavy in his neck, his heart, his wrists, his stomach do wonders to show Ranefer that he lives. Lives beyond the dormant state he crawls back into.

And that dormancy cripples him. He can't take the sudden bleeding of red out of his vision, succumbing to the grey of depression sinking deep. Inspiration leaves him. The world feels slow and every day feels cloudy, even despite the white fluff of clouds barely holding any rain. Worthlessness aches in his bones and suddenly getting out of bed seems akin to climbing a mountain. The deep groan of his throat giving way to the soft, deep breaths of slumber - sleep over everything. A thing that's always crawled in his mind, of course, yet further intensified by the hand life gave him. Makes things harder to do and with its ever presence lingering, it's quite easy to succumb to that inner voice in his head telling him that he's no good. A vicious cycle of building things up just to watch another version of himself knock it all down.

In between these states of mind sits a young boy who finds utter enjoyment in creating things, building things, learning things. Someone who wants and yearns for good company, but likes time alone. Likes time to open a book or watch a movie; to indulge in the things that he knows makes him happy. And even if that sabotaging conscience whispers in the back of his mind, he still tries. If he got anything positive out of his father, it's likely the stubborn need to get back up.

Background:

" You come from a full line of Pharaohs - a child of the sun - and yet you're as good as your legs: in a ditch off some country road. "

An empire of the modern world, Horus Tech found itself in Cairo, Egypt for the majority of its starting years. Just a small company of mostly innovative IT guys, yet perfection had been its absolute core principal. Dubai skyrocketed the company into a veritable, modern day empire. They created perfection in their technology and while they didn't lead the front of luxury tech, they revolutionized technology used in various factories all over the world. Like any large corporation, many individuals rooted deep within the company's infrastructure found corruption in the power they yearned. What came from an honest man's want for perfection, for the unimaginable potential of technology, twisted down the generations into a greed that soon turned perfection into a status symbol - a false one, but one that still held a great deal of power.

In the recent years, the CEO gave birth to a young boy, a possible heir to the fortune the company amassed. By then a notion that the Antar family derived from the pharaohs of old, children of the sun god Ra, had already deeply ingrained itself into the top tier platforms of the company's founders (children of the founders, at the least). Ranefer Antar would thus be raised as royalty in a world where royalty doesn't mean a damn thing. Yet, money talked, so any opinion otherwise stated didn't hold to the 'truths' of Horus Tech's allotted "Pharaohs."

Unfortunately, no one knew of the boy's father aside from the mother herself. No one dared question the great granddaughter of the original founder; she held a fierceness in every breath she took. That was evident in the way Ranefer had been raised, a young prince destined to lead a vast empire. The delusion so deeply rooted itself, yet it never stopped Nailah Antar from looking for nothing but perfection from her child. In his early years, it had been obvious that Ranefer had a talent. The boy had a mechanical presence like no other; he'd showed an unparalleled capacity for learning anything to do with engineering. And when he grew older, that stretched into robotics. It would be Nailah's job to cultivate that into something the company could take advantage of and when the boy showed a stubbornness to go his own way, she took to controlling him through force.

Corporal punishment. Of course, she couldn't make the pain visible for perfection shouldn't be marred by reformation. Molding the imperfections shouldn't create imperfections of its own. Thus, she refrained from using physical violence and more or less aimed to break the boy as he aged until he became complicit. Her hired bodyguards did enough of the physical punishments when she needed it, when he acted out in harsher ways than just ignoring wishes. Because Ranefer seethed underneath and when he had a reason, the boy would explode and care little for the consequences.

It wasn't until his attitude became too much to handle did Nailah's father react in a manner he thought befitting. Of course, he'd been biased and prejudiced; that unknown blood had already tainted the child, it was just a matter of showing his daughter that imperfection. After coaxing, Nailah agreed to send her child out to her parent's home far from the high rises of Dubai. Prior to this, he'd hired individuals he knew couldn't deny a shit ton of money to purposefully t-bone the vehicle meant to carry Ranefer from Dubai to the mansion. The car came head on, a large truck for the sole purpose of demolishing the tiny, black Mercedes. It sent the vehicle into the large ditch that ran parallel with the country road, before taking off without ever once stopping. The driver died on impact, along with the bodyguard that ran passenger. The only survivors had been Ranefer and a greenhorn guard that sat in the back to accompany him. In the wreckage, Ranefer laid dangling from his seat, his legs pinned between the impacted door and the passenger seat in front of him. After calming the guard enough to allow him to call for assistance, Ranefer did his best not to focus on the utter pain that laced through his body. He'd always known he'd been tougher than most kids his age, a lot more mature minded, at least, yet he still found it surprising that he survived a crash that devastating. Unfortunately, it took a few good hours before anyone came and by the time they did arrive, he'd lost all feeling beneath his knees.

The ride back to Dubai ended with Ranefer falling unconscious and waking up with that same useless feeling beneath his knees. After flagging down a nurse, they'd told the boy what they had to do and that it took quite a bit longer to saw through the tough bone and sinew to decapitate the dead limb. It took awhile to process, but when it did, a numbness dropped through his entire body like a venom - like a cobra sunk its teeth into his veins. Before he realized his shocked state, Ranefer woke up again, still in the hospital with two days behind him. It took an entire week before they allowed him back home.

Things refused to get better from there. Perfection in everything, the unseen motto of his mother's industry. She no longer had a son in her eyes and thus he melted away into a puddle of self-worth. Everything he could have had had been flushed away in tragedy. Of course, it would mar her image if she was seen disowning her very own child after discovering his tragedy. At that point, disowning him would have been a mercy. Predictable that things got even worse afterwards and eventually Ranefer only saw himself as a burden, a true imperfection. His mother almost won.

And then she didn't. Kind of. Ranefer couldn't quite go beyond his room, mostly because his mother felt he'd ruin her appearance if she were seen with a crippled boy rolling in a wheelchair next to her. At least, as long as that boy was her son. He convinced the hired staff to carry him down to his workstation where Ranefer holed himself up in. There he slaved for days without food and little water working on his latest project. Oddly enough, designing a revolutionary piece of technology just... kinda ran in the family. At the end of four restless days, Ranefer came in a disabled teenager and walked out still disabled, but able to walk again. It took months of training his own body and a lot of sneaking around his mother to get needed help from experts in physical therapy before Ranefer could actually walk in a convincing manner.

To make things worse, Ranefer's father decided to show up with an offer to 'help'. Didn't take long for Ranefer to explode, and in that explosion he successfully annihilated the entire west wing of his mother's mansion. Melted metal dripped around the two idle individuals, the smell of burned marble and the sight of flames in the distance only served to make the situation a lot more suspicious. And then he had his entire situation explained. He exploded again, smaller this time, before his father, Hephaestus, took advantage of his calm aftershock and whisked him away to a small place outside of Utah. There he explained further, allowed his son to rest, and then urged him to join the Academy. For his protection, at least - not only would his mother be searching for him in the rubble of her home, but forces greater would be looking for his head on a silver platter.

Exhausted. Tired of everything and nothing, at the same time, Ranefer took his father's advice. Of course, after telling him to fuck off. He'd work on that last part... soon, at least.

Extra:

◬ Has an obsession with cats.
◬ Hates warm weather 'cause then people look at him weird for wearing heavy layers.
◬ Not ashamed of his disability; actually loves the opportunity to make himself better. Of course, he's never going to purposefully add to that disability (and doesn't glorify it).
◬ Is a technophile and science nerd. Loves space and the stars.
_{◬ it's a tie between Artemis and Athena}

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_{But you'd look sweet on the seat
Of a bicycle built for two}

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Godly Parent:

Hephaestus

Relationship With Godly Parent:

There's no hatred there, no room for it; however, there's a lot of resentment and bitterness for leaving him to fend for himself, essentially. The idea that Ranefer's father could have taken him away from that place, shown him exactly how important Ranefer was before allowing his mother to break him down into nothing isn't something he's willing to forgive, just yet. Hephaestus knows this, doesn't regret his decision, but wishes he could help now in some fashion. They have a tendency to be rather volatile around each other, as both have the temper of a volcano. They have great calm down periods where they wallow in their guilt and grief. At the moment, they've both agreed that the other needs space and time before forgiveness can be doled out.

Godly Abilities:

Technopathy

_{The ability to control, manipulate, and speak to electronics. Being the son of the God of the Forge extends quite well to the modern error. Technology currently rules the playing field, thus allowing Ranefer to directly control various technology to aid him and allows him to build things with unprecedented speed and precision. Right now, Ranefer can use this ability to control up to ten pieces of tech at one time, not including his own legs as he was able to utilize his resources to actively connect them to the neurons in his brain. This leaves that slot open to other tech.}

Machine Creation

_{Like Hephaestus, Ranefer has an astounding aptitude to engineer things. He's taken his love for robotics and upped his knowledge of it two fold with the ability to create machines with innovative use of resources. Most of these machines are harmless, but if taken a step further and if he truly wanted, Ranefer has the ability to create devastating weapons. Obviously they'd take longer to build and require specific resources, but the knowledge sits in the back of his mind like an itch waiting to be scratched.}

Magma Manipulation

_{Currently tied with his anger, Ranefer, in a truly explosive state of mind (total rage and anger), can bring molten earth to the surface in order to cause havoc and madness. There's no control over this state and it's extremely rare that this should ever come to light of day. But if Ranefer is pushed and prodded into a catatonic state of rage, he'll be unable to control these particular powers. They're unpredictable, at the moment, and the goal is to either put a lid on these powers entirely or gain utter control over them, untying them from the emotional shackles they're currently chained to.}

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_{Of a bicycle built for two
For two, For two, For two, For two}

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_{Daisy... Daisy... give me your answer, do
I'm half crazy...}

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A Slightly Round Table

A new moon, shrouded in darkness

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Máni - On the Horizon

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Personification of the Moon

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Basic Profile

|Name|

Máni Mundilfärison

|Alias(es)|

Emmanuel Welch

|Gender|

Male

|Sexuality|

Homosexual

|Relationship Status|

Single

|Pantheon/Faith|

Norse

|Occupation|

Mani has gone through several occupations, gone to college about twenty times. His most memorably time was when he went to Yale when it first founded to become a bishop for the local church. He found Catholicism interesting, but after a few years he tired of it.

Among the occupations and degrees he's gone through are: physics teacher, astronomer, bus driver, bartender, and manager at a Starbucks.

Recently, he's gone back to gather another Astronomy degree and currently works in an observatory for the University of Arizona.

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"She's gone. She's really gone."

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Appearance

|Godly Appearance|

Mani, unlike his sister, went to the skies without complaint and came, upon his chariot, shrouded in silver. It was said that the gods themselves felt hubris over both brother and sister, as their beauty radiated through day and night. So much so, that their father, Mundilfari, chose Máni, the moon, and Sól, the sun, as their names. Beautiful as they were, beauty only came as a curse and for their father's hubris they were punished. Before the fall of the gods, Mani shone bright in the sky while he glided around the moon in his chariot, a protector that the gods of the moon smiled at—and a companion to the ever lonely Chang'e, trapped just as he in endless rotations.

Other than his silver glow, a reflection of the moon, Mani doesn't differ much from mortals in his visage. He remains his height in both godly and mortal appearance (5'9"), as well as retaining the same physical build. His white curls fold under an iron viking helmet, with silver gilding along the eyes and down the bridge of his nose that shine with the dull grey of his irises. A matching torso of iron mail wraps around his chest, buttoned in clasps of jade given to him by the Chinese moon goddess. The ensemble fits together with his iron leggings and greaves, gilded and trimmed in silver along the edges and creases of the armor.

|Earthly Appearance|

Sharp, like a bird with creases of stress that wrinkle his visage, Mani strikes a crude resemblance to his godly self, and the individual that drove the Asgardians to jealousy. Crooked nose dips into thin, pursed lips that slide over white teeth in a grimace. Mani's cheeks are made for smiling, with their height and prominence, rosy in complexion and rounded perfect by the jowls framing the corners of his mouth. The wrinkles end at his jowls and smooth into an angled jawline that curves toward a narrow chin to neatly frame his face in a diamond. The features of his face embolden in the frame of dark brown, considered long for short hair that fall along the top and side of his hair in a lion's mane coif. Of all the features, Mani takes the greatest pride in his hair, keeping it healthy and perpetually soft to touch; and does Mani appreciate a welcomed touch through his wavy locks.

Mani's skin radiates a fair glow, pale in complexion but not strikingly so, from days away from the bright burn of the sun. It leaves his body in a similar hue, over a lean, muscular frame that accents broad shoulders and a more prominent chest. Mani's posture accentuates the more conspicuous parts of his body, which bounds with a careful, thought out poise. Many of Mani's mannerisms remain stilled and calm with a gentle motion to them; most everything Mani does is deliberate.

A near blinding obedience used to shield the emotions loose in his eyes, a vibrant blue backdrop for complacency. However, these passing days a single-minded determination colors the hues of his iris a dark midnight. Coming through in different shades, darker and darker as it goes, the blue radiates from the pupil in an angry burst of color that layer over each other as they fall into the whites of his eyes. They're cold and distant now, more like the blackness he once found a home in, yet without the bright stars that dot the abyss or the moon to reflect upon the sun's glory. They're ice. They're the depths of the ocean and unfathomable in their dimmed glow. Much like Mani himself remains an enigma, though his cause has never been more obvious.

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"Life gives you lemons? You make like a rabbit and hop off."

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Who Am I?

|Personality|

Prior to Ragnarok, as he and many other Norse gods call it, Mani took to his job with relative ease—Mundilfari always prided himself with an obedient son. Like the moon, Mani felt calm disposition lighten his veins, lessening the fear of being chased into eternity in an orbit around the celestial body. He supposes, he handled the situation a lot better than his sister ever did—or maybe worse? Sol had always expressed herself freely, let herself see the joys in life and they only ever saw each other in passing, when the moon's orbit brought it closest to the sun.

Looking back now, Mani feels more shame than anything. Why make excuses for gods driven by passion and hatred? That, of all things, Mani regrets the most. The moon itself isn't a cold being, not spiritually at least. Maybe lonely, as Chang'e and her Jade Rabbit were. Maybe disembodied like Coyolxahqui, betrayed by her family and a betrayer herself. Mani, though, of all beings trapped among the crude surface, felt the bond between he and the lunar body rip a part and the dread of impending oblivion sink in. Now, wandering earth in search of purpose, Mani only feels a cold hatred; ironic, as he was chased by Hati, the one who hates.

That coldness drives him further from the gods he sees now. No longer hindered by a filter of ignorance and willful naivety, Mani's hate runs for the deities that sent him to guard the moon in the first place. He shouldn't say guard. No, he was more bait than vanguard. And that hatred drives Mani, both further in his life and further into the ground. Somehow, it's okay, though, to be angry all the time. To just want to throw every piece of furniture out a 10 story window. Because anger feeds into determination, perseverance, a will to continue forward instead of going back or standing still. Mani refuses to remain idol, refuses to continue looking to the past, regardless of how much of it he holds on to; it's always forward for him and if he has to cut a few corners and run people out of his way, then Mani's more than willing.

|Family|

Sól - Sister. Supposedly deceased. Killed by Fenrir.
Mundilfari - Father.

|Strengths|

• Nocturnal
• Obedient
• Learned
• Determined
• Conscientious

|Weaknesses|

• Vindictive
• Lost
• Callous
• Repressive
• Overworks Self

|Likes|

• Horses
• Nightlife
• Quiet/Solitude
• Starbucks Frappes
• Stargazing

|Dislikes

• The Sun
• White Fluorescent Lights
• Heat
• Mornings
• Getting Out of Bed

|History|

The sky is burning.

The sky is burning. Cold ashen rays from the sun to melt the ocean and the earth in slow waves. The sky was burning and he could do nothing about it, driving the moon from spiteful Hati. These gods and their wars, pulling him and his sister into a fight they would have taken no part in. But, obedient Mani had no qualms. Obedient Mani had seen the Asgardians as heroes and leaders, obviously their decision concluded after many hard nights of reasoning. Prophecies and jealousy and hatred. They took them from their father and they cast them in chariots to guard the moon and the sun, ever chased by Fenrir's ilk—Sköll and Hati. Until prophecy dictated the wolves catch their quarry and devour them whole. He should have listened to his sister's hateful spite.

Events didn't quite unfold that way, at least not for Mani. For his sister, Sol, Sköll hadn't been the one to catch her, Fenrir did the deed and ate her whole. All the gods reigning dominion over the sun never once looked twice at the stalwart protector as her chariot fell from the skies, a comet and tear to rip open the sky. Yet, Mani hadn't heard of her death until he'd gotten free himself—hadn't realized the comet that fell to earth had been her chariot. His quarrels ended when the Shinto god of the moon, Tuskuyomi, intervened in the battle and chase with one swoop of his sword. The wolf Hati, burned by the sword and without a left hand, turned and fled to his father's side to aid in his battle.

Left to wander the skies in search of his sister, rather than the surveillance of the moon, Mani came to find no solace in the stars he called home. The gods of the sun gave him no head and so he, enraged, fell to the earth to discard his chariot and leave the moon without a sentinel to watch over. Luckily for him, Mani's timing occurred nearly perfectly, as once he landed the gods, as well as he, signed a pact to relinquish their powers. Thus, Mani's chariot would have been forced from his care regardless of his decision and thus left to roam the earth again, after millenia.

With no real word on his sister, Mani assumed her dead by the hands of Fenrir and thus he spent the next century or so finding the likely downgraded wolf to enact some kind of vengeance. Being near-human, however, that search came and went and Mani soon found himself tired and lost as to what to do. Thus, he moved along with humanity, content to learn and study and occupy his time, but still as lost as ever. He staid away from most gods, loathing most beings for both casting them to the sky and letting Sol perish. The only gods he ever had any real contact, and contentment with were those in the Shinto dominion, as they came to his aid when he needed it the most.

Bouncing from country to country to eventually continents, Mani finally settled somewhere in Arizona with another astronomy degree (since one from the 18th century seemed slightly phony) and a yearning to look back to the skies.

|Opinion on Mortals|

"I live among them. I at least care a little bit of what happens to them, and likely won't bargain their lives away, but other than dire situations, I don't much care for them."

Mani's relationship with mortals, in general, is rather indifferent. Of course, he would side with them in a heartbeat if the situation threatened their well being, but most of the time Mani doesn't pay them much attention. Maybe that's because he's a relative introvert, preferring his solitude over much else, as well as his work. Most humans don't pay him mind, as he's often hunched over papers, books, or preoccupied with a telescope or computer.

|Theme Song|

Cosmic Love – Florence + The Machine
_{”The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart”}

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"Is it bad that I have no idea what to do with myself?"

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Mortal vs. Immortal

|Mortal Skills/Abilities|

With a drive and a purpose, anyone can do whatever it is their heart requests. For Mani, that meant quite a few things. The former god of the moon knows too much math for his own good, keeping himself routed in physics based calculus and graphing to aid in his astronomy work. Speaking of which, Mani would gladly discuss each and every one of the heavenly bodies, telescopes, satellites, how everything works out in space. He'll talk for days, if he's allowed to.

Aside from that, Mani is exceptionally skilled at driving, playing the piano, taking care of horses, horse riding, and coffee foam art.

|Immortal Skills/Abilities|

Mani didn't have an arsenal of godly weapons at his disposal. To be honest, he didn't and still doesn't have much. Of all things, though, Mani has speed and will out race almost anyone that's not Hermes or Mercury, especially in a vehicle. He still kind of retains that speed and the ability of enhanced perception whilst traveling at an inhuman velocity, so his reflexes and thoughts are infinitely better in fast situations.

One power he will regain is superhuman healing when in the moonlight, as well as night vision, and enhanced strength, senses, and reflexes. There's honestly not much else besides that.

At the end of his shift in power, Mani will be able to summon his chariot, which travels roughly the speed of a jet airplane, but when given the space to do so, i.e. in space, it can travel at light speeds. He also regains his shield, able to hold off even Fenrir for but a short time.

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"I have never been so amazed at the idea of sleep. I do it so much now."

A Slightly Round Table

To know what you want, but lack the words to express it

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Janus - On the Horizon

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God of transitions, beginnings, passages, doors, and endings

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Basic Profile

|Name|

Janus

|Alias(es)|

James Alfero; Associated with the god Partunus

|Gender|

Male

|Sexuality|

Demisexual Homoromantic

|Pantheon/Faith|

Roman

|Occupation|

Bouncer at a Strip Club during the night; Librarian during the day

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Appearance

|Godly Appearance|

A god of two faces, one which looks to the past with longing in his eyes, and one that looks to the future in hope and aspiration, Janus embodies the beginning and the end. Body cast in gold, Janus stands at an alarming seven feet, adorned in the robes of a scholar but with fine steel plate layered over. In his hands he holds both heads, which usually find a place hovering, yet connected to his neck. The left holds youth and glory, face a golden shine with eyes blue and glowing brilliance; this face looks toward the future of mankind. The other, held in the right, is one of wizened years, as it looks toward days passed. A lengthy beard of dull, white gold frames the wrinkled edges of his face, with a lighter, dimmer haze of blue radiating from his eyes.

Janus himself hovers off the ground, feet held within a middle ground between the sky and the earth. He is usually found presiding over doorways, especially those to his long dead temples. Not only that, but Janus is ever present for any change and transition, a god of passages, a god of the threshold.

|Earthly Appearance|

Tall, though not as strikingly tall as his 7'0" godly visage, James stands at a nice 6'4"—a giant reigning over the average human. That being far from the truth, however, Janus carries himself with a humbleness and an ever attentive gaze. Though, sharp is his gaze, Janus chose a softer feature for his face, letting the edges of his jaw round rather than stick and the blunt of his nose glides gentle toward average lips, red and soft to the touch. Of all things, James loves smiling, lips found stretching over a row of brilliant, white teeth.

Often considered the most striking feature of his ensemble are James' ears; they're large and fold outward from his head. As well, they tend to move, or wiggle, to the movement of his eyebrows. That meaning, one can tell when James gets particularly excited, as his eyebrows tend to animate when he talks and his ears move along with them. Though, most of his emotions lay in the shine and glint of his green eyes. Though technically green, James' eyes vary in a mixture of color: green holds dominance in it's burst of warmth, though the majority of his iris holds a starburst of golden brown flecks, which dot the green in random pattern.

Regardless of his prominent features, James tends to vary on the average. Even boasting a tall frame with wide set shoulders and physique to fill out the majority of his clothes (he learned quick that, to be an intimidating bouncer, one has to bulk up accordingly), James blends in with the vast majority of mortal crowds. Maybe it's a god thing nowadays, but James doesn't much like bringing attention to himself. He feels deeply that his kind has brought too much trouble to the world of men and women.

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Who Am I?

|Personality|

During Rome's reign, Janus presented himself as an amoral figure in the Pantheon. Whereas Bellona thirsted for rage and war, and Venus love and promiscuity, Janus held himself balanced in the middle. He neither wanted nor gained from interference from mortals. Maybe impartiality is a staple to clairvoyant beings, but then again, maybe it had to do with the fact that Janus seemed so ubiquitous to the daily lives of his worshippers. Romans held a vast number of rituals dedicated to just Janus himself, at the start of a year, at the end of it. Even mornings fell in Janus' domain. Thus, it left Janus with little time for emotions, though he grew to care for the small rituals of each Roman citizen.

Present day Janus finds himself overwhelmed with feeling. Overwhelmed with guilt and disgust for his people, in particular and growing ever closer to the humans that used to doddle at his feet. Of course, having been partial for most the near entirety of his godhood, Janus doesn't particular know how to handle emotions. And neither does he know much of society itself. A god that looked toward the future and the past stuck in the present does not make a happy god.

Janus himself contains a vast intellect; his mind is a database of knowledge and facts. However, that does not make up for social knowledge. Most of Janus intelligence remains hypothetical. When faced with the challenge of practicality, Janus seems at a loss with what to do. Interacting with people, interacting with other cultures outside of Rome, all of it left Janus dizzy and with no desire to face the problem head on. For a perceptive god, Janus doesn't pride himself on being able to understand why certain things are happening, just that they are.

This accidental isolation leaves Janus in modern times with a heart weighed heavy by loneliness and a mind still boggled at the mystery of human nature. Maybe he should stay a scholar and philosopher, rather than an actual presence.

|Family|

"Family? I'm... not sure I have that."

|Strengths|

• Perceptive
• Intelligent
• Trusting
• Decisive
• Liberal

|Weaknesses|

• Inattentive/Easily Distracted
• Romantic/Idealistic
• Aloof
• Pedantic
• Intensely Hypothetical

|Likes|

• Cats
• Traveling
• Baby Animals
• Books/Movies
• Doors
• Singing and Dancing
• Harry Potter

|Dislikes

• Hypocrites (Ironically, being literally two-faced)
• Prematurely Stopping
• Middles
• Hates the Aisle Seat on Planes
• Being Cutoff While Talking
• People Who Slam Doors
• People Who Don't Close Doors All The Way

|History|

Unlike most gods, Janus lived in his own temporal bubble. Things went and passed without much interference from himself. Doors opened and closed, both figuratively and literally. Not many myths dealt with Janus himself, though the ones that currently do aren't necessarily accurate—he loathes his association with Cardea who he never once had much relations with. Though, his time spent with Saturn remained one he cherishes today, as he does with Camese. Janus himself didn't have much in the way of friendship, having mainly those two particular gods, as well as a close friendship with Juno, or Hera.

For years, nothing of note had occurred to the god, or that the god incurred upon others. Janus, wise as he may have been, staid much in the shadows and relished in the quiet of peace, when the doors to his temple closed. In terms of other gods, Janus hadn't much to do with them and felt content in his solitude. Only the recent agreement to denounce powers affected Janus greatly. However, it occurred at such a time that he likely would have vanished from memory to the begin with. Thus, Janus gave his powers willingly and went on to live the life of a wandering scholar, and often times a hermit.

Being more of an observing entity, Janus merely watched the ebb and flow of human life. It more so involved his unwavering ineptitude with societal interactions than wanting to observe in the first place. Thus, Janus stuck to the many libraries that dotted Europe and the many churches and cathedrals that hung their shadows in city squares. During this time, Janus took to books and knowledge, learning humanity, but never once truly living it.

However, one thing he did garner from his travels was the closeness he felt to humanity itself. Even standing from afar, Janus took to mortals more so than his own kind and grew ever guilty of the blood his people shed over petty desires and fruitless schemes. That wasn't to say he hated other deities, he just felt slightly biased in his opinion. That didn't quite stop his inquisitive nature and the loneliness he felt as the centuries passed by. Thus, Janus retained one power, extremely week in its ungodly state, like many of his own brethren, which Janus used to remedy his loneliness. Of course, being able to use doors as vocal points for teleportation never really gave him the desired outcome. None of his kind ever really paid attention to him, or found him annoying and rather too talkative, thus, most of his days were spent alone and with his nose buried in a book.

|Opinion on Mortals|

"It's nice to watch them. But, maybe I treat them too much like birds, instead of people."

Most of Janus interactions with humans could be explained in the span of an hour. This is taking into account centuries worth of interaction, which can only fill an hour of time. Most of these interactions were merely hellos, and accidental bumps, rather than in depth conversations, so they are quite numerous in quantity, but lack in quality. Whereas other, more social gods like Aphrodite, could spend years telling her tales of mortal men and women and inbetweens. But, Janus loves humanity, but he much prefers to watch, rather than participate.

|Theme Song|

No Place I'd Rather Be – Clean Bandits
_{”With every step we take, Kyoto to The Bay
Strolling so casually
We're different and the same, get you another name
Switch up the batteries”}

|Favorite Myth|

Eros and Psyche

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Mortal vs. Immortal

|Mortal Skills/Abilities|

Well, Janus has a keen sense of perception and can tell various cues apart from each other. However, he can't exactly tell you why something happens, especially if it happens to be something social. That being said, Janus retained his vast depository of useless knowledge. Okay, it's not useless, but there's a lot of stuff in his noggin detailing the intricate chemical compound of yeast and both why and how it grows. Another ability he'd gained is how to tell what properties a door has, what kind of metal or wood it is, how old it is, how sturdy it his. He could talk for days about doors, if only anyone would ask.

Regardless, Janus is well read, well educated, and perceptive of various things.

|Immortal Skills/Abilities|

Janus has always been able to travel through doors, just like Poseidon will always be able to talk to fish, though he doesn't really know why anyone would. They're dull creatures, aside from sharks, jellyfish, and shrimp. And it's not a normal traversal through doorways because anyone can do that. Janus, however, can pretty much pop up anywhere as long as there's a door that'll lead him there.

As his powers grow, Janus will gain his supernatural perception, which will grow into full blown clairvoyance, as well as foresight and hindsight. Thus, leaving him able to foresee various events in the future and pinpoint which path an individual is currently traveling on. Most of all, through these powers, Janus can tell the exact point a person's life will change, as well as end, sharing his ability with Hades. Of course, he doesn't know the exact date and time, just what the event will be. Of course, most of the time Janus doesn't like to spoil things for himself and would rather live the transition himself.

Lastly, Janus' combat capabilities lie in his utter control over portals which he can place and use anywhere between two points. The concept itself is pretty simple: Janus creates a portal beneath someone, they fall into, and are transported somewhere else... depending on if they're mortal or not, it's like out in space. Likewise, Janus can literally rip passages and archways into any concrete surface without harming the surface itself. So he makes doorways by forcing a surface open. This ability over portals will likely be the last of all of them to develop.

|Favorite Myth|

Eros and Psyche

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James Alfero

A Slightly Round Table

And no matter the pain, he did not cry, did not shout, did not beg; rather, he laughed it all away.

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Michael - For Queen and Country

^Archangel

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| Name |

Michael Elior Harel

| Date of Birth |

He likes to say 'The Beginning of Time', but who really knows?

| Gender |

True form is essentially genderless; as a human, though, he takes a male form; he responds to 'he/him/his' the most, but doesn't take offense to any other pronouns

| Sexuality |

Homosexual - 'cause who gives a damn diddly?

| Occupation |

Bought out a legit Antique Record Store (the last time he was on earth he started a savings account and it kinda got him quite a bit of interest over the years)

| In-Depth Appearance |

Wings the span of galaxies; a height that dwarfs the Milky Way; eyes of molten fi—

Nah, Michael's just got a regular guy look. He doesn't much talk about his true form, usually because it's not something people can just get, you know? It's hard to word outside of Enochian and even then it's still hard to understand.

So, Michael goes by what he looks like on earth: a 6'1" guy with a nice, muscular build, but not intensely like 'whoa that guy lifts weights' more so, 'that guy's fit; he probably lifts weights'. It's lithe and agile, with a flexibility he definitely likes to boast about. I mean, not ever day you meet a guy who can do the splits for one unless they do drag on the side ^{(katya needs to be stopped)} or can do a back bend to the point where limbo can definitely be defined as a sport. Regardless, Michael's got a fluid look with a solid stature.

By society's standards, Michael's sharp jawline, expressive features, fit build, and sharp facial structure define him as 'Stud' or thereabouts. The soft doe eyes and slightly fuller cheeks tend to act as a reduction to the cut of his cheek bones and line from his jaw to chin. Overall, Michael thinks he looks nice and he's not necessarily there to impress (he wears logo t-shirts and jeans with converse half the time, really not here to impress), so he doesn't overdo anything. His hair is a simple brush back with a hand slightly caked in gel and, really that's it. His voice has a higher lit to it with a slightly gritty quality.

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| Personality |

♦ Excitable ♦ Stubborn ♦ Secretive ♦ Flippant ♦

It's hard to explain a myth - especially when that myth's a myth to something already a myth. See where this is going? Yeah, Michael's just a little bit convoluted. There's a lot of stuff in there and not as much room as one would expect of a millenia old being. It's nothing to be concerned about, perhaps; it's more so Michael not willing to acknowledge certain aspects of himself, much less share them.

Perhaps it's best to compare him to human knowledge of the cosmos. There's a lot there. There's a lot to know. Yet, there's still an insurmountable amount of information to even parse before anyone's ever able to delve deeper. Theories are theories (though that's not exactly how science works; thanks die-hard christian extremists, you can sit this one out), but a lot of them are hypotheses due to the fact that, whilst a lot can be seen and recorded on earth, so much more cannot. It's like—it's like the string theory verses Einstein's theory of relativity: they make sense alone - perfect sense, in fact - yet together they contradict each other. That's Michael in a nutshell.

People have a certain idea of Michael - an image, so to speak. A righteous soldier of God, leading battalions of angels into combat. The being who crushed Lucifer underfoot. Then there's Michael to other angels, some of which tend to deify him. Deify or not, Michael would rather not reach apotheosis, but regardless he, among others, is looked toward to at least lead. Which is dumb. Absent leaders do what? Why is that expected of him when thousands of years pass without his or any of his fellow Archangels' presence?

An enigma, if any, Michael represents willful ignorance, disregard for his own rank and title, and the dashing of every concern with an outraging flippancy. Michael stay true to his embodiment of the heavens, the heavens being space and all it's lack of concern for human life. Beautiful to look at from a far; up close, Michael's a disaster, a swirling mass of barely contained entropy. It's awful to say, but Michael's a ticking time bomb and he's forever waiting for that moment that sets the happy optimism ablaze from the all of the issues, problems, and emotions into a small body and letting it fester.

Just waiting. Ticking by. Putting money in a swear jar the size of a shot glass and continuing to "Shit", "Fuck", "Damn", "Cunt" his way into bursting that bubble.

| Likes & Dislikes |

✔ Slow Dancing By Himself _{(pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man)}
✔ Stargazing _{(now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare)}
✔ Heavy Winter Coats _{(who needs a heart when a heart can be broken)}
✔ Karaoke _{(no i never felt this way before/yes i swear it's the truth/and I owe it all to you)}
✔ Standing on Rooftops Watching City Life _{(i wish you would step back /from that ledge my friend)}
✔ Old Movies _{(i was five and he was six/we rode on horses made of sticks)}
✔ Warm Hands; Warm Arms _{(i just wanna tell you how i'm feeling/gotta make you understand)}

✘ Solitude _{(i can't get used to livin' without livin' without/livin' without you by my side)}
✘ Lengthy Silence _{(i don't know what I'm to say/i'll say it anyway)}
✘ Not Moving _{(spreadin' out her wings tonight/she got you jumpin' off the track)}
✘ Feeling Anything But Excited _{(my mother says when you gonna live your life right)}
✘ Outbursts; Losing Control _{(i'm a man without conviction/i'm a man who doesn't know)}
✘ Assumptions _{(all in all it's just another brick in the wall)}
✘ Taking Things Seriously _{(now everytime I go for the mailbox, gotta hold myself down)}

| History |

Everything's shrouded in mystery. How scary is that? To have every bit of your existence teetering on the balance of what possibly shouldn't have happened? Feeling that, but not knowing exactly what that is or if it should even exist.

The truth, really, that's too much for anyone to know.

However, since the beginning, it's been perpetuated that his kind - the seven of them, to be exact - take up roles as leaders of their species. That's an odd word to use for beings equivalent to janitors. The really good janitors, you never see them clean up the mess. They come swooping in with their mops and bleach and poof the next day Becky's upchuck is chucking up that floor no longer.

Michael likes to call the Archangels the 'Specialist Clean Up Crew' and, really, there's no argument for that regardless of what anyone else says. It's an awful notion, one that Michael owns up to, but the leadership thing? That kind of power tends to get to people's heads and, well, can't really stop that. It helps that they're never really allowed to hop from their posts unless absolutely necessary. Or, at least, that's what Michael thinks - a few of them probably meld in with the rest of the population, watching Earth rotate by. Michael prefers the detachment not because he's a solitary creature, but because that's the only way he can perceive himself.

It's awful to wade through crowds of people and see nothing but blurred lines of faces and standing there, wings unnoticed but spread, feeling nothing but outside of the world. That feeling, feeling alone in the midst of 7 billion people, making sure certain things, certain people don't completely wipe them from existence, it doesn't do well for even a being as powerful. The stars seem fairly less lonely than earth's sodden ground.

Floating above nebulae, curiously watching a black hole devour entire stars from a (relatively) safe distance, seeing stars wane and die out, that's comfort TV for Michael. It also helps that he can tune into certain radio waves at certain distances - he's gotten the full effect of media culture just from wading around the Milky Way (or, well, at least staying relatively close to the Earth's System itself - nostalgia, maybe?). Unfortunately for anyone in the future, Michael has only seemed to be able to pick up the entirety of Pop from the 70s and 80s, making Elton John and Tina Turner and everyone in between his top 100s.

With another mess to clean up, Michael begrudgingly sets himself in a quiet bar in quiet London, humming quietly to Foreigner's I Want To Know What Love Is while watching the news. It took awhile for their existence to eventually pop up and, well, with all the acceptance going around, the political correctness, Tumblr's existence online, it came as a slight surprise to see how much animosity humanity holds over the unknown. It also makes Michael giddy because that's the only way he knows how to mask his nerves (that and quietly humming Cyndi Lauper's Time After Time).

Well the world isn't going to clean up after itself.

| Family |

There's a super tiny mole on his shoulder that he calls Agatha Christie - it's a joke cause it's so tiny and melds with the freckles there that's it's a wonder he finds it.

That's not a family member. But, Michael doesn't have anyone he's related to, so... you know.

| Strengths |

• Analytical
• Optimistic
• Ironically, Cultured

| Weaknesses |

• Emotionally Constipated/Bottles Things Up
• Stubbornly, Willfully Ignorant
• Self-Destructive

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| Theme Song |

Starman – David Bowie
_{” There's a starman waiting in the sky
He'd like to come and meet us
But he thinks he'd blow our minds
There's a starman waiting in the sky
He's told us not to blow it
Cause he knows it's all worthwhile
He told me:
Let the children lose it
Let the children use it
Let all the children boogie ”}

| House Number |

aaaa dunno which

| Extra Information |

N/A

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SoS: Semblance of Suburbia

Errol Howe

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_{❯ ❯ ❯ ❚ N/A ❚ Twenty-Four ❚ Single ❚ Homosexual ❚ Male ❚ ❯ ❯ ❯}

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❯❯❯ A P P E A R A N C E ❮❮❮

▻ Handsome by anyone's standard. If self-awareness could be a crime, please, Errol like would have had that charged against him, among other things. Those days have long since passed, thank the lord. Now, Errol doesn't feel the need to bring any unwanted attention to his attractiveness. Mostly, it's that nagging feeling that he's likely being judged for even looking remotely similar to the senator's kid arrested for possession and reckless driving and assaulting a cop. And then even more so when they find out, 'Oh, that is him. Wow, what a loser.'

Thus, Errol often tones it down when it comes to his clothing. His attire is never too flashy, never consists of bright colors, nothing to accentuate his features or highlight his face. Most of his closet consists of suits for anything formal his mother undoubtedly invites him too, along with rows and rows of khaki pants and button up shirts for his day job. Out in public, it's usually a regular tee-shirt, a pair of sunglasses, and a cap. Occasionally, he'll layer on a beard when he's feeling particularly anxious.

Of course, Errol doesn't exactly demand attention when he walks into a room - name and renown aren't exactly an issue where he lives. Sure, he's certainly attractive and can dial that up should the need arise, but Errol doesn't exactly want that. Even then, he doesn't need to do much to get people to look the other way, as his features often come off as brooding and closed off - body cues and a resting bitch face help tremendously. The stature, the baggy close to hide his lean muscle, and the relatively average 5'9" height keep him where he wants to be, generally out of everyone's business.

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❯❯❯ P E R S O N A L I T Y ❮❮❮

▻ Errol's always favored himself a quiet kid, up until a certain point in his life. That's never changed. Errol doesn't particularly enjoy the scrutiny his family faces, particularly anyone but his own mother. Most of what he's done has been localized, mainly staying within the beautiful Californian state. Unfortunately, the state itself is a hotbed for publicity and his mother takes great advantage of it. Errol, however, never really fit into the public eye. It's always been that way. Anxiety hits Errol harder than most and he's succumbed to the woes of depression plenty in his teenage life.

It never got awful, though. It never escalated beyond that, until he hit his stride in his college years. From eighteen onward (about his twenty-second) Errol took an entire one-eighty. Influenced by a number of friends and by what he considered a lover - a much older one - Errol let himself decline. His demeanor turned from reserved and quiet, to sharp and brutish. He cared little for anyone but himself during his time, and his next fix. Parties had never been an issue during high school, yet his mother couldn't stop hearing about them. Reports and reports filing in just as she began her term as a congresswoman. Errol turned into something he has a very hard time looking back to.

Now, he's met with support from the few family members that bothered to remember his name - namely his mother and sister. Errol shies away from a lot of the public, preferring to keep to his home and to himself. Mostly to keep everything he's done to himself, or as much as he can. It's been years, but it's still easy to remember, still fresh in people's minds. And that runs most of Errol's anxiety and dictates how he interacts with people. Most of his conversations remain brusque, polite, and to the point. It's influenced a lot of how he speaks and his distance from other people tend to mark him as rather snobbish. It's not like Errol minds, much, as it's better than what they could say about him. Still, even those little opinions sway Errol into making decisions based on that thought process alone. His mother thinks he needs to see a shrink, but he insists he's quite fine.

At least he's gone back to what he used to be. At least he can look himself in the mirror and be moderately happy about who he sees. Even if that individual can sometimes come off as an asshat. Some people lack the thick skin to keep up with his harsh sarcasm and Errol doesn't deny that he's snippy, if a little bit caustic. He's not a misanthrope, per se, but he wouldn't mind if people buggered off.

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❯❯❯ H I S T O R Y ❮❮❮

▻ There's a saying that his mother, Diane Howe, repeats on a near daily basis: "Promises are bullshit. As a politician, it's bullshit that works." They live mostly with that in mind, or at least that's how Diane runs her campaigns. Her children and her home? They mostly live in a layer of 'American Dream Family,' and just work from there. The public absolutely eats it up. Errol had to live through a minimal amount as a young child, though his sister came in at a rather inopportune time. In fact, a lot of shit hit the fan in the middle of the road.

Still, Errol's life was never anything to complain about. His mother doted on him, even her words had more bite to them than necessary. She was blunt and the people around her loved it. Honest? Maybe - when it mattered. Acting transparent and being transparent were two entirely different things, however. Diane played to that to an alarming degree, yet she tread carefully enough that her tactics never really backfired. Some slip ups, certainly, a few mishaps, but no one's perfect. She never expected much of the same from her family - she played politics like a game and if she could keep her children from becoming pawns, then all the better.

Thus, Errol mainly staid out of the spot light. He attended a private school with private tutors during the summer and excelled in mainly the sciences. At an early age, he took up the piano, crooned songs when his mother had enough time to sit with him and idly sip at her wine while she watched her son play. They had an odd relationship, to the say the least. Most of her words seemed entirely cold, nearly abusive and discouraging; Errol bit back with the same acid used against him. To this day, it honed most of his wit and ability to think on his feet. She never meant it, though, unless he actually did something stupid - and he did plenty. While Diane never came off as affectionate or tactile, she showed her love all the same.

Work escalated when Errol graduated and with Errol off to Stanford for most of his studies and his mother campaigning for a spot in Congress, it left a lot of room for Errol to live life alone. Alone, in the sense that he had no parental supervision. That had been the absolute worse choice he made. He hadn't realize just how much he relied on his mother's blunt pressure bearing down on him to keep him from doing the stupidest things he could thing of. And Errol never really partied, never really ached for that spotlight, especially not concerning negative press. Harming his mother's reputation was the last thing on his mind.

That wasn't exactly how things worked out. Most of Errol's friends recognized him for what he was, included him in a group of mingling old and new money kids - people with billions in inheritance and not a care for anything but the money and fame. The lifestyle they lived wasn't exactly one that Errol fancied. Yet, an older man convinced him otherwise.

One of his professors, a coach for the rowing team in Stanford, took a great liking to Errol and once the semester passed, he pursued him with a great fervor. Their relationship had been Errol's first in everything and an enlightening discovery of his own sexuality. It proceeded harmlessly, quite nicely in fact. He doted on Errol, gave him absolutely everything, and showed him quite a bit more than Errol had expected from a first time boyfriend. Unfortunately, that made him all the easier to manipulate and eventually Errol fell into a crowd of people he desperately wanted approval from. Would do anything to get. It appalls him now how much their opinions truly mattered then and how much it drove him to do things he absolutely hated.

The first time it happened had been at his first party. They treated it as a hazing, of sorts, lined up a good dose of coke for someone's first time and convinced him to snort it fully. The next few hours had been the best high he'd felt in years. The drug sizzled in his veins and propelled him forward, made him more confident, more like everyone around him, and more susceptible to following their lead. The next subsequent times required higher doses and the fall drove him to a terrible, itchy neediness. The first time he'd experienced the after effects of the drug, Errol suffered a terrible insomnia that allowed him to sleep in unsatisfying, thirty minute bursts. The next few times, he made sure were within a reasonable time zone.

Before Errol could truly stop and look around, months had passed, his relationships strained and his world focused mainly on the drug and what it could do for him. Those few moments high, he accomplished a grand amount of things he probably couldn't. The friends he'd made only further encouraged it, brought him in and used him to their hearts' content. He grew aggressive, edgy, and ultimately something that Errol knew he wasn't and shouldn't have been in a million years. Regular frat boy comes to mind.

Another year passed and he'd dove even further, eventually pushing all kinds of relationships to the wayside. His relationship with his professor grew strained and when it became apparent that the man had made a mistake in introducing someone like Errol - who'd had a hidden, addictive mentality - to something as dangerous as cocaine, he bailed. Errol hadn't noticed, still fixated on where he could get his next fix. Eventually, he started consuming other drugs, mostly party oriented drugs that he could get on a night without a coke high to fixate on. It drove him into the ground, splattered his name on papers and magazines as his mother grew in her own renown.

It didn't stop until everything Errol did, all the terrible mistakes he made in just a night, gained enough infamy that his mother's own job had been at risk. She'd found him that summer in his dilapidated apartment, the summer funds she'd given him already run dry. Diane nearly broke down. She couldn't think of anything to say, so she yelled at him. Profanities. Anything. She just needed something to say to keep from truly breaking apart in front of her kid.

After a few behind the scenes action from his mother and her team, Errol found himself in rehab, somewhere out of the public eye. The withdrawal hit him hard for how much he'd been using over the year. They hadn't actually been too certain if he'd suffer long term, more permanent damage, especially to his brain, but they were certain he at least had the sense not to accidentally OD. Not yet, that is. It took a few months before Errol found his feet again another few months until he could attend school again.

He quickly gained a decent position at a government research firm (after a lot of heavy lifting from his mother and numerous drug tests), worked his way up, and found himself a founder in a private researching division working on pharmaceutical drugs - funny how they'd trust him with more drugs. It all eventually worked out, and it became rather easy to save up his own money. Another few years later and he found himself in Lakewood Summit looking at a 6 million dollar home - his mother didn't see the appeal, but wouldn't deny her son anything. Obviously, he needed just a tad bit of help from his mother, but he eventually came to own a nice, European-style home just a walk away from Sparkling Springs.

Not a few years into his residence, did he hear urgent word from his own mother. She'd sent his sister to live with him for an indefinite amount of time. Not two months later did she divorce from her husband of eighteen years. Bewildered at the turn of events, Errol didn't question his mother's decision, but it did pique his curiosity. Unfortunately, he hadn't seen his sister in years and her timid, almost frightful nature never really rang as odd to him. Of course, being sixteen, she was more than expected to attend classes at Lakewood Academy and he had to begrudge the inevitable PTA meetings that came with.

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❯❯❯ O C C U P A T I O N ❮❮❮

▻ Congresswoman's son, works for a private, pharmaceutical research company of which he founded after discovering a new type of medication with a friend and coworker of his - it provides him with most of his money. He doesn't like the stress of owning the company, so he takes a small pay cut to simply work for them as a co-founder. Obviously there's also a trust fund for him and his sister.

[Co-founder of a now large and booming pharmaceutical research company]

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❯❯❯ H O B B I E S ❮❮❮

▻ Formerly cocaine and/or molly. - this is something, in particular, that he refuses to talk about. People likely know, but no one's bothered to say anything. His mother did a lot of work keeping things from the public, but sometimes one can't help a leak or two. Fortunately, either no one knows, no one cares to acknowledge it over their own problems (cause it's technically old news), or they all talk about it behind his back. He just hopes to god it's not the latter. It's probably the latter.

▻ Formerly partying hard. - just another thing he refuses to acknowledge, though this specifically has been leaked a lot more than the drugs part. He supposes people assume drugs were involved, even if his mother bribed the publishes to drop those parts and stick with the alcohol and the partying.

▻ Begrudgingly attends PTA meetings - his sister being only sixteen and only a sophomore, she needs someone to involve themselves in her scholastic career. Without either of his parents currently in the picture, that someone has to be him. He hates it, but it puts a shy smile on Cara's face, so he can't complain - it also allows him a better standing with her.

▻ Plays Piano and Sings - ever since he was old enough to learn, Errol's been pushed into lesson after lesson until finally something stuck. When his mother gets the chance, she likes to sit down and listen to him croon out old love songs. Either that or some god awful reprise of a terrible pop song because he knows how much it irritates her - but she won't say anything because that'd be rude. Like she has an issue with being rude.

▻ Yoga - they offered free classes (or kind of free? they paid for the entire stay, so...) at his rehabilitation center and he leaped at the opportunity. It was either this or something more dull and less entertaining than watching a bunch of entirely unflexible individuals try stupid poses. Unfortunately, it's worked wonders to curb his anxiety, depression, and stress and works well with the medication he's been taking (and is monitored on). He's waiting for some asshole to laugh at him.

▻ Meditation - along with yoga, his instructor at rehab encouraged meditation and for those that wished to stay after, allowed a few lessons intermixed with the poses and stretches. This one's less embarrassing and one he's more inclined to use more often.

▻ Anonymous Counseling - this one he takes far, far away from Lakewood just out of fear of judgement. It's a number of meetings across the week, his happened to land on a friday morning. It takes him an hour to get there, the session lasts two hours, and an hour to get back so he's usually home by the time Cara is. Errol tells absolutely no one of these.

▻ Smoking - a bad habit, but not one that people tend to condemn. It's more like publicly frown upon and Errol's more than okay with that. It gives him something to do with his hands.

▻ Keeping up Appearance - after the whole fiasco with drugs, Errol's been very mindful of what he does and how it gets around. He nearly tanked his mother's career and he's sure if he did something insanely dumb, again, she'd have his hide.

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❯❯❯ R E L A T I O N S H I P S ❮❮❮

▻ Cara Howe – Half-Sister – Slightly estranged relationship, they are unfortunately ten years apart and once Cara hit eight, her brother had already left home. Errol doesn't know much about his sister, though he wants to, especially concerning her odd situation.

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Jameson Jones

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_{❯ ❯ ❯ ❚ J.J. / Jay / James ❚ Thirty-Seven ❚ Single ❚ Conflicted ❚ Male ❚ ❯ ❯ ❯}

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_{❯ ❯ ❯ ❚ Never Be Like You - Flume (ft. Kai) ❚ Stand By Me (Cover) - Florence + the Machine ❚ In the Woods Somewhere - Hozier ❚ ❯ ❯ ❯}

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❯❯❯ A P P E A R A N C E ❮❮❮

▻ Every measure of James is edged in softness. Long rounded features with a subtle expression of jaw gives James gentle sweeps in shadows that lightens any hard edges, or corners of his face. Severeness doesn't translate well in James' expressions, sadly; anger doesn't suit him and neither does tension. Handsome would be a good expression of James' features, if used in the context of commenting old ladies or mothers of friends who had a smidgen too much to drink. He's good-looking in a stable, ordinary way. Special isn't something James appears to want, especially concerning his own looks.

Having an incredibly tall stature does nothing for James' humbleness. Most people find it incredibly hard to not notice a 6'4" behemoth (beanpole) standing over them, no matter how 'gentle' they look. The added musculature from military training that quickly dissolved into necessary routine doesn't aid in softening his first impressions. After the first 'Whoa' is out of the way, a second look definitely dispels any notion of James as anything but a dumb softy.

Most of James' clothing consists of pairs of jeans, nice slacks, and lots of nice sweaters and button ups. Mostly sweaters, though. He likes the sweaters. It's all very toned down, as well as very typical of James. For some reason, the whole sweater game seems to fit him. Maybe it's that shy, dad vibe he seems to give off or the sense that he's chastity, faith, and Sunday Church goer personified. He's even got the loafers to prove it.

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❯❯❯ P E R S O N A L I T Y ❮❮❮

"The measure of a man is not how great his faith is, but how great his love is." - J.C. Watts

▻ He's not your typical man, but he is what you'd expect when you look at him. James comes off as an open book and that's true, for the most part. The only things James hides consist of personal memories and issues he's thinks aren't privy to appropriate, acquaintance type relationships. He's soft spoken, if a little goofy, with an entire heart too big to fit in his chest. A big heart doesn't make him likable; being nice doesn't grant a person charisma. What's most apparent when James tends to show his face is his unbelievable persistence and lack of personal boundaries in social situations (barring divulging in dark, personal secrets).

Driven by an underlying loneliness, James seeks personal companionship without realizing his own trespasses. He more so makes acquaintances rather than friends just because his personality tends to veer on the personable side of things. The rest, the lack of timing, the personal space issues, the humble persistence, keeps everyone he knows at arms' length. It's an overbearing attitude, that tends to overwhelm most people, regardless of whether or not social interactions make them claustrophobic. James is a stifling presence in and of himself, with an exhausting demeanor he's not so aware of.

But the thing about James is, everything he does is out of sincerity. Not a lot of people come off quite so genuine, and actually mean it. James is every bit as genuine as he seems, to an almost fake degree. Helping people, guiding people, giving people hope has been something of a job for him for years. It's a crutch. It's something James tends to fall back on when he's on the verge of losing himself. Faith plays a big part in that and even in his lack of relationships, it keeps him hopeful and optimistic, even in his loneliness.

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❯❯❯ H I S T O R Y ❮❮❮

▻ Old money deludes perspectives. Having money grants people the opportunity to care little about what happens outside of personal effects. Materialistic in the simplest form; nothing to do with philosophy. This is about an excessive amount of greed.

Laura and Howard Jones knew absolutely nothing outside of mansions and private jets. Their world consisted of money and continued to do so until their quiet deaths. Thus, their son became an anomaly of sorts, perhaps one that took their church visits too literal - appearances of a wholesome family of Christian values. To want for nothing affected Jameson differently than his parents. With a foundation of faith built upon the years, often lacking intervention from his own parents (negligence, perhaps), Jameson learned very quickly not to care for money.

Growing up, a lot of Jameson's life consisted of a stark lack of people - his parents in particular. Having tutors comprise most of his education due to a constant, moving environment (both Laura and Howard brought their son along on their business trips, purely to increase their positive image) denied Jameson of any long term relationships. He relied a lot on himself for entertainment, and when he could he took quite a lot of time truly indulging in the Christian ideals his parents seemed to tote around. Early on, there really was no realization to how badly they tended to exploit that for good press and better business. Jameson took it seriously and when he'd grown a little older, a little smarter, he was in too deep to care what his parents thought.

Which likely unveiled the already gaping rift between both him and his family - him and his world. In his university years, Jameson quickly fell into a deep depression. Things truly came into perspective then: how much his parents cared for him, how disconnected he was to both them and other people, and how the world he'd built could never hold out under pressure from not only his parents, but society itself. Those years, Jameson had no idea how to hold himself up or where to go from where his family essentially dumped him. So, Jameson turned to his faith - the one constant in his life that afforded him some kind of stability.

The rift tore even wider upon graduating from his own university, and enlisting as chaplain in the U.S. Army. He'd earned his degree, changed his major, and quickly accumulated the required time in theological studies afterwards. It took a few good years to earn a spot in his local church's clergy, and quite a few more spending his time working there before enlisting in the Army. All of which, his parents had been far too busy to even ask what he planned on doing, how he planned to live, whether or not he'd take over their company when they needed him. The woes of having only one child and not caring for them enough to guide them when absolutely necessary.

By the time he'd announced his idea to both parents, Jameson was already sent off to make good of himself.

Most of Jameson's time in the army was spent on bases overseas consisting of providing his services to a number of soldiers, as well as their families. His career had been enlightening, at the most, though detailing out every year he'd spent as a chaplain would come as quite uneventful. It wasn't until long into his own term that Jameson's faith faltered. Quite a few atrocities remain unnamed and buried in the sand. Jameson's time spent in the Middle East didn't quite go as expected, or planned. Witnessing people he'd said prayers for, gave advice to, counseled commit acts of monstrosity burned a hole in Jameson's heart. And then having to witness the same ordeals against them shook him even further.

Quite a bit of Jameson's past, especially concerning his latter time spent as an army chaplain remains under lock and key. He often attempts to convince himself that it's merely out of politeness; you don't tell people the horrors you've seen out of respect. It's more than difficult to accept those horrors that have swiftly become a part of you. Jameson is no exception to the rule and refuses to touch upon the things he's witnessed because he's scared - frightened of it and what he could have done to stop it, but didn't.

Guilt drives people to do a lot of things and it drives them to refuse a lot of things, as well.

Upon arriving home, Jameson packed up, gathered everything he had accumulated, and simply refused to go anywhere near his memories beyond that point. He quickly moved to the west coast, used what money he'd saved up, and applied to a college there. Everything up to that point had been mindless. He picked a major to study in, trucked through his courses, and got a job after graduating. Nothing really registered until he'd gotten a call announces the death of both his parents. To cancer, they said. They would read the will and dole out what was left to him and any other immediate family.

Knowing they had no legacy to acquire their company, the Jones sold it to a competing company, liquidized their assets, sold their share of the stock, and essentially gave everything to their child. They had absolutely no reason to and to this day, James still tries to wrap his head around the why of it. He's become accustomed to simply letting it be, for now. With everything, James sold the many mansions and villas his parents had spread across the world and simply took the one they seemed to live in most frequently. It felt weird giving everything up, selling it, and having all this money to deal with. James didn't want it, but didn't find a reason to lose it, quite so much as just save it for when he needed it. Thus, he packed up and left for the rather grand manor in Lakewood Summit.

Why, Jameson couldn't divulge. They had a number of memories spread around the house. He didn't want to admit it, but there was a lot of things he missed about his parents, mainly in the things they'd grown to love or kept. Namesakes and things he'd stumbled upon rummaging through various closets and storage rooms. Perhaps once he finds everything, he'll leave, though that's quite a bit of ground to cover. And as he gets closer to finding the pieces his parents left behind, Jameson finds he's quite torn with just leaving it all behind. Selling everything. Letting it all go. It seems almost wrong and while he certainly doesn't fit into the surroundings he's found himself in, Jameson is quite content in just settling in for the time being.

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❯❯❯ O C C U P A T I O N ❮❮❮

▻ Inherited family money and home; after army, went to school for marine biology as a quick, impulsive decision. Specializes in whales and love just about every bit of it. Works for a University that travels every few times a year to study in the Pacific.

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❯❯❯ H O B B I E S ❮❮❮

▻ Jogging/Fitness - Routine helps Jameson clear his head, especially if it directs his focus solely one what he's doing. Going to the gym at the Country Club and just jogging around the neighbor help lighten his thoughts and his mood.

▻ Baking - After his return to America, Jameson did a lot of just wandering around. A lot of his time consisted of taking classes around the city he lived in before word of his parents' death. One of those happened to be a culinary class; baking was among the few he really took to. Now he bakes whenever he's feeling depressed or out of it.

▻ Volunteer Work - Wherever Jameson can get it on his time off, he'll put in pletny of hours just simply volunteering, especially around the University he works for.

▻ Dancing - Tap dancing in particular, as well as tango and salsa. Like the baking thing, it's among the few things Jameson took upon himself to learn. Of course, it's one of those private things and he'll usually indulge only when he's alone, though he can sometimes be bribed to dance with a partner.

▻ Book Club - Well, someone's gotta taste test his wonderful pastries and who better than an entire reading club? Not that he doesn't actually participate because he does and it's a great way to make friends and all that jazz. It's just that most of the people already there hardly interact with him, and only when the head of the book club directly asks him anything. What more, the majority of the club's attendees tend to treat Jameson as if he doesn't exist outside of the club. Ah, at least they eat his treats.

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❯❯❯ R E L A T I O N S H I P S ❮❮❮

▻ Character’s Name 1 – relationship – Brief description of relationship

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John Aldman

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_{❯ ❯ ❯ ❚ Fox ❚ Forty - Seven ❚ Single ❚ Grey-Asexual ❚ Male ❚ ❮ ❮ ❮}

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_{❯ ❯ ❯ ❚ Suddenly Seymour - Little Shop of Horror ❚ You're the Top - Anything Goes ❚ On Any Sunday - Footloose ❚ ❮ ❮ ❮}

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❯❯❯ A P P E A R A N C E ❮❮❮

▻ Cutting a tight figure, even in his old age, there's only a few things that distinctly stand out about Johnathon. The almost giddy, bursting with energy vibration that settles deep in his gut, evident in every line and movement of his body. And the undeniable limp (occasionally accompanied by a cane) and odd twist of his hips and right leg when he moves. Even then, with the contrast of his vibrancy to his obvious crippled state, Johnathon has no issues standing out. In the cut of his attire to the way he holds himself, Johnathon has a demanding attention that begs for a spare glance his way.

Most of the time, it's rather difficult to see the wealth that oozes from his very fingertips. He's not dipping caviar, or driving vintage muscle cars, and he's certainly not toting around expensive casual wear like he's suddenly young and hip again. No, Johnathon doesn't see the fun in materialism, both the philosophy (as he's quite spiritual, by nature) and the attitude. His mother always joked about having the hardest time getting him in a simple button up. Johnathon goes for comfort and self-assurance over the idea that people have opinions. His casual attire ranges from nice sweatpants to cozy sweaters; perhaps a morning jog in just a pair of shorts; perhaps he'll lounge around his home in a robe and some old boxers.

Unfortunately, Johnathon's job does demand he come in wearing a suit and tie, mostly because they'd rather not have him coming in wearing a pair of Homer Simpson pajama bottoms or a onesie - more risk and potential of seeing an old man's junk. That's where his custom, bespoke outfits come into play and he has two for every day of the week just because it's fairly easy to alternate between this one and then that ever other week. Less time spent at the dry cleaners is more time spent doing whatever the hell he wants.

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❯❯❯ P E R S O N A L I T Y ❮❮❮

▻ You know what people envy the most, these days? Pure, unadulterated, visceral happiness. Genuine sincerity. Having and wanting for nothing, but getting it anyways. Or perhaps befalling a tragedy and coming out of it simply turning that smiling face and chasing another dream. Soul crushing nihilism and black hole like existentialism have no meaning to a man who's just happy to be alive, live in the moment, and die having been glad to do something, however insignificant. Johnathon radiates positivity and sunshine like it absolutely oozes out of him. It might as well. Things shine bright and vibrant in his eyes - just the kind of optimist that can't seem to see a bad thing coming.

Unfortunate that, when a bad thing does come, they're rather wholly unprepared to face it. Or just naive enough to ignore it. The only fallback is their mighty resilience. Johnathon may not be adaptable, but he sure can take a beating. It's this stubbornness that both drives him and infuriates others. Bullheaded not only in his optimism and happiness, but also in his own faulty choices and ignorance. He's not used to change and doesn't like it much; he won't take change lightly unless there's no other possible options. Even then, Johnathon doesn't sit down in a resigned nature. He's fervent. He's got a fire and a passion and he'll likely trample whoever he can to keep it burning. Even if those passions are for the good of others, and usually they are - he loves to help people. What he doesn't realize is that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. A saying his own parents drilled into him, but never quite got to stick.

At least that compassion drives him further than just stubborn predilection. Johnathon's morals have never been in question, it's just how he finds himself getting to that end goal. It's very simple for Johnathon to tunnel into one specific goal and disregard everything else - his morality be damned. But, he'll fight for it gladly, even when there's absolutely no reason to. Even when he should run in order to come back stronger than before. Johnathon has absolutely no will and no resolve to back down; he'll stand until he dies. And sadly, that's a very, very true statement as he's had to been forced down by more than a few colleagues and friends. Just doesn't quite know when to give up. Perhaps that's a good thing. Perhaps it's one of his many, great flaws.

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❯❯❯ H I S T O R Y ❮❮❮

▻ Gathering everything and leaving had to be among the hardest decisions Johnathon has ever made. Having lived and loved and a multitude of many other things in Bowness, Cumbria in England, leaving meant breaking ties with everything and everyone there. Perhaps that was a necessary step in his journey. After all, he owed his mother, a single widow trying to do right by her dead husband, that much just for raising him. Johnathon, looking back, could very well say he was not the kind of child anyone would have wanted. He was loud, obnoxious, too full of energy and prone to fits of hyper activity ever two damn minutes. He wore his mother out, but she still poured affection over him in droves.

Yet, she somehow knew he wouldn't stay for very long. Johnathon's predilection to music appeared very early in his formative years. He bumbled around singing whatever he'd heard that day, not really conscious of the words and the notes coming out of his mouth until the start of primary. Finding out that he could have a career in it? That was absolutely the end of days for his mother. She wouldn't stop hearing about it, how he'd become a singer, a rock star, or a performer. An entertainer, when he got fed up thinking of new singing professions to talk about.

So, of course, by the end of his year in secondary school, Johnathon took a year gathering as much money as he could and then promptly leaving for the states. Leaving everything behind at a blind shot at stardom. His eyes had been set for Hollywood, but sadly he'd stopped somewhere in downtown Manhattan. Immediately, Johnathon knew he was absolutely fucked, but he went on regardless and he smiled no matter what happened. His mother taught him that. "The world throws eggs at you. Throws rotten, spoiled things. They want to hurt you with words and knifes and stones," she'd say, stern and with her hands on her hips and a fire burning her chest, "You smile. You smile and tell them thank you. Have a nice day. And don't give them an ounce of oil for their fuel. Love and you love with your whole heart."

And people did hate him. They cursed at him, called him names, made fun of his accent even and the way he talked. Johnathon didn't know yet what to do with his life aside from find a roommate or ten to split the bills with and find a job that he loved. The first job, however, definitely wouldn't be something he'd find himself working years later. But he smiled, because what can you do as a waiter in some ragtag diner down in Soho? Oh and people would rip into him for getting the wrong order, for tripping on his shoelaces, for stuttering when nervous. But he smiled, handed them their bill and fully expected them not to tip. He still hoped they had a great meal and a greater day.

Every day he'd grow closer to his goal. Hollywood was just a few more scrubs on this table away. Of course, until Hollywood didn't matter anymore. One of his roommates kindly shoved a pamphlet to an off-broadway production of Hamlet. Hamlet of all things. No singing, just quite a bit of memorized lines about potential suicide and a lot of angst in a small plot of land somewhere in Denmark. It paid alright. Would be like busting ten tables down at Betty's. So, Johnathon took it, landed the lead part as Hamlet, and absolutely blew his audience away. The rush and exhilaration of having people stand up for you, applause, and cheer, even just a small run down theatre with those lousy, tin-aluminum, whatever fold up chairs. That feeling fueled him.

It took years before Johnathon even got a small whiff of a chance, an opportunity, to do something beyond himself in scope. A showing of Anything Goes and by some dumb chance he landed Billy Crocker after somehow stunning the director with a rendition of You're the Top, with the assistant director, after a few bars of a song of his choice. The entire thing was absolutely overwhelming and it gave Johnathon a high he didn't realize he needed. He broke into the Broadway stage like he'd just been set ablaze and he took his opportunity, slung it over his shoulder, and road that rocket all the way to absolute stardom.

He made it big like he knew he would, with every bit his dignity and his talents in tact. And after gaining enough recognition and money, he honed all of those talents and made himself even better. Johnathon wouldn't always get away with just having the raw talent that earned him his first few leads on Broadway; he knew that and he built on what he had.

For years, Johnathon took to the stage and did what he did best and continued doing so for years after. Of course, that could essentially sum up the more lavish part of his young life. It only turned downhill after he'd peaked, or, at least he lived part of his dream and the rest came crashing down. Johnathon wanted to spend his life on the stage, doing exactly what he loved until he physically couldn't walk anymore. Unfortunately, that happened a little sooner than he thought.

After almost reaching the heights of his career, Johnathon landed a spot on Footloose as Ren McCormack. During one of the rehearsals, a week before the show would light up the Broadway stage, one of the set pieces fell loose - a faulty screw or bad wiring, who knew. It crashed headlong into Johnathon, having seen the piece too late and attempting to dive out of the way. It shattered every bone in his body and part of his spine, earning him a good few months in the hospital.

Being the optimist, Johnathon figured he'd heal up and go right back to the stage, dancing his feet of and singing until his lungs burst. The doctors didn't see it as such and the moment they'd announced he'd be paralyzed from the waist down his whole life, his world completely crashed - no, it burned up before it even broke the earth's atmosphere.

The news hit him hard and after a few days after leaving the hospital's care, he moved back to the UK in order to find care with his mother. Those few days, the plane ride, the car ride, his mother crying on his motionless lap, all passed in a black, grey blur. It took a month of introspection and a sedentary life for Johnathon to regain even a portion of his positive outlook. His optimism wouldn't come back fully, never after such a tragedy, but if anyone failed to just lie down and take it, it was Johnathon.

Every day, from that moment on, Johnathon actively worked to regain the motion in his legs. He took the train to London for weekly appointments with a physical therapist who had more than a few doubts. The drive and will, the determination that burned in his chest compelled him to keep trying. To keep rising from his wheelchair and trying his damn hardest to take just one step. It took years of recovery to even move his legs and many more down the line before Johnathon turned a tragedy, a dream gone terribly wrong, into one of success and miracles. But miracles had nothing to do with it. Johnathon had every bit the drive and motivation to stand on his two feet again and keep moving - to never stop once he started. Until he was no longer stumbling, but walking; no longer walking, but running.

Of course, it eventually stopped there; his legs fully healed, but his right one didn't quite heal properly. He could move, run even, do extensive exercises a few times a week, though he worked with less time to curb the intolerable pain. However, his right leg didn't quite move as it once did and the doctors he went to found it far too risky to attempt breaking and resetting the bone, especially since they'd practically have to shatter nearly the entire length of it and possibly his hip too. Johnathon resigned to that, at the very least. He couldn't do as much as he once could, but at least he could still sing and belt with the best of them.

Eventually, Johnathon found a new passion and a new life. When one door closed, he simply picked himself up (after so many years) and turned toward another one. Life was filled with a variety of adventures, some small and others large. Eventually some would end, sometimes prematurely, but until he lay buried six feet under, there'd always be another one on the horizon.

Johnathon soon found himself in business classes and various others oriented to music, got a bachelor's degree and began producing music. He occasionally produced his own, but he mostly catered to other musicians, taking whatever work he could find from others. Rock, jazz, pop, even a dabble in synth and techno from an eccentric German band. It wasn't until he'd found himself molding his own business and operations did Johnathon find that streak he'd been missing. He eventually led himself to Los Angeles, producing for a big record company downtown while occasionally hosting a radio show.

This time, Johnathon brought his aging mother and allowed her to settle in a better home in Lakewood Summit. He wanted only the best for her as she experienced the twilight ages of her years. She's still kicking, even in her late seventies, but she's recently requested to settle down in a retirement home not far from Lakewood. Again, Johnathon only paid for the best when it concerned his mother and she got just that. He currently, frequently visits her on the weekends and always plays her one of her favorite Beatles songs, Here Comes the Sun whenever he knows for sure she's tuning into the station he's currently co-hosting. At the moment, life could certainly not be better, but for Johnathon, most of his life is just a pocket full of sunshine.

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❯❯❯ O C C U P A T I O N ❮❮❮

▻ A former Broadway star, having won three Tonys for his best musicals. He's most known for his rendition of Seymour from Little Shop of Horrors, as well as J. Pierrepont Finch in How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying.

At the moment, he's a music producer for a big name record company in downtown LA, where he frequently commutes. Though, he mostly works at home, Johnathon co-hosts a radio show on Friday and Saturday mornings before he goes to visit his mother, Coleen.

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❯❯❯ H O B B I E S ❮❮❮

▻ Singing (and some Dancing) - Oh, Johnathon adores singing. Any song really. Just give him a name and a band or a person, perhaps a show, and he'll do his best to show it some justice. He'll often slide onto the piano bench in the Country Club to simply hammer out a small number and be on his way. He also, often, attempts to dance one out, but it's hell on his damage legs and joints, so he keeps from exerting too much stress on it.

▻ Fitness - As much as is humanly possible for Johnathon. He can still definitely train his upper body, and to some extent his lower body, but cardio's very hard without a proper leg to work on. Of course, he does his absolutely best to keep fit and keep a healthy diet and, while he wasn't the musclebound young lad he was, he's not actually quite far off.

▻ Concerts/Plays/Musicals - Anything with a stage and music or preforming, you'll find Johnathon in the front row. He's also quite an avid lover of art and peruses through LA's many glorious art galleries. It's evident from his assortment of art decor lining his home walls.

▻ Gardening - Ah, bending down and getting back up puts a helluva strain on his back, but he makes due. He loves planting his own herb garden, seeing what's in season, getting lovely, ripe, nice and juicy tomatoes or watermelons or pumpkins. But, also making sure his front yard looks spot on; of course, he has a number of gardeners to assist in matters, but Johnathon isn't afraid to dirty his knees.

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❯❯❯ R E L A T I O N S H I P S ❮❮❮

Coleen Wight Aldman – mother – A direly old lady who's slowly deteriorating in a nursing home a thirty minute drive from Lakewood Summit. Of course, she retains her memory and is as fiery as ever, especially when her son visits.

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Hayden Hawthorne

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_{❯ ❯ ❯ ❚ N/A ❚ Thirty-Four ❚ Single ❚ Pansexual ❚ Male ❚ ❮ ❮ ❮}

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_{❯ ❯ ❯ ❚ Beatles - While My Guitar Gently Weeps ❚ Beatles - Hey Jude ❚ Blackbird - Beatles ❚ ❮ ❮ ❮}

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❯❯❯ A P P E A R A N C E ❮❮❮

▻ Feet like obsidian and pressed suit swirling in oily black - a reluctant business man. People wear things like armor; Hayden wears his suits like a fortress, all cold steal and granite rock. He stands upright with the attentiveness of a man seeking foreclosures and partnerships, throwing around trade jargon like he knows it. A figure worthy of a portrait, sucking the age from his youthful face. Your average Dorian Gray. An entire closet set fills with a number of purely tailored, bespoke suits and hand crafted shoes, passed down from a father near perfectly his size, yet so garishly different. Hayden remains a contrast to his father and looks ill-fitted in suits pressed and tailored to his near, exact size. They aren't his. It's like wearing another's skin and it crawls, sinks its hooks into him.

Like many people, Hayden has his moments and his ticks. Idiosyncrasies that identify him in a crowd so he can't quite blend. They've changed since he was young and full of hope. The grinding, slide of his jaw as his eyes glaze in thought. His posture running ramrod straight in a chair, leg folded crisply over the other. The near, inaudible hum in the back of his throat that vibrates his jaw. His eyes pierce and his lips, thin and chapped, strain with frown lines that crease his jowls - a set under his prominent cheekbones that would practically puff up with a smile, now only contrast with the sunken, tired look in his eyes.

Routine dulls him, but keeps his body healthy and his mind relatively stable. Hayden looks for distractions prominently, in a futile attempt to nullify the grayness hanging over him. It keeps his curve sleek, allows him to slide into his suits without much effort and come out cutting a sharp figure. His height's average and his weight one mainly consisting of muscle. Hair feels thinner, shorter, and his face lacks the glow it used to, though the fairness remains. He doesn't like comfortable; he doesn't need it.

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❯❯❯ P E R S O N A L I T Y ❮❮❮

▻ What's a man with nothing to lose and nothing to gain? Better off dead. And yet he finds a reason, at least, in protecting someone he loves. Noble, if selfish, though he would argue, vehemently, against the notion.

Among the many siblings, Hayden, perhaps, comes across as the most tragic casualty. A tally on his parents' count of dead dreams. The first among the Hawthornes - perhaps, the first in a lot of things. In his youth, Hayden wanted for nothing, at least nothing that his parents could offer him. Much like his father, Hayden's independence struck fast and struck hard. For an unassuming young man, many didn't expect the viciousness to which Hayden dictated his own life. He snipped ties and bonds without much thought to feelings other than his own. Most of the time, he wandered blindly towards his many goals.

What differentiated Hayden from other rebellious teens and runaways was just how savvy, how adaptable, and how resilient he was. Or, perhaps, simply how utterly bullheaded and ruthless he became in the light of his own wants and desires. Much the conman his father had been, though with less want for the ambition that made the Hawthornes a household name. Hayden, unlike his father, knew the benefits of contentment and once he'd achieved what he set out to do, Hayden settled.

When lacking the passion and cruelty that motivated his waking moments, Hayden would make an ultimate switch. A kind of lack of desire to move on from what he'd accomplished. It infuriated his father, who had so desired his children to not only succeed in general, but succeed in toppling him, besting him, usurping him. Hayden achieved his vindication and found contentment in that. He didn't push himself forward, didn't decide to climb the next few rungs in light of simply staying on these few comfy pegs.

That's where Acacia came in. Of all of his siblings, Hayden adored the youngest the most. A dire weakness that his father took advantage of. The ultimatum his father set for him forced Hayden into a state of introspection. Ultimately, Hayden evolved beyond the perpetual, snob of a rebellious teenager into an off-hand mirror of his own father. Taking up the mantle, the corporation, in light of his father's death, threw Hayden into a fortress of himself and locked him inside. Jaded, cynical, stoic; a dull, permanent gray in a dim landscape.

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❯❯❯ H I S T O R Y ❮❮❮

▻ At some point in our lives a decision has to be made and a road needs crossing. It is entirely up to us how we perceive these changes to our core selves and whether or not we accept them.

Among ten children, the Hawthorne legacy was quite a thing to live up to. Ten children, and just one to take the a pivotal role in succeeding what the Hawthorne name stood for. The unfortunate part of having children so undeniably like himself, was the inevitability of a mini-Hawthorne revolution. None of the children wanted the mantle. None of the children wanted anything to do with their own parents.

The first one, Hayden, had been the most groomed to succeed. He was also the most like his father, just with his mother's knack for subversion. He was also the first to feel burned by both parents' obvious neglect, hubris, and avarice. From the point of his realization on, Hayden sought only to dismantle everything his father stood for and to find the best seat to watch his beloved company burn.

This undeniable game of cat and mouse began in Hayden's first year of college. Like his father desired, he'd studied business and a number of other suitable things - foreign languages, humanities, computational skills. After his graduation, his father signed him right up as an intern for their company. They handled a manufacturing business for energy companies; they practically monopolized a number of resources in Northern America and Europe. They specialized in building and maintaining Nuclear Reactors. All of it on the back of his father, making the company fairly recent, though only by forty or so years.

After a number months, Hayden made a switch to a rival company, gathering all of his father's data and liquidizing his own share of the stock. He invested every penny, knowing full well it might all go to waste. Wanting his father's rival to succeed wasn't his intention; seeing his father seething made, boiling over with rage, and wanting his head on a pike was his priority. Knowing full well his father would find it cowardly to take these matters on legally, Hayden made the information exchange in order to gain a more prestigious seat within the corporation. He cared little for the money, the title, or the company - he just wanted to see his father burn.

At every step and interval, ever business transaction made and meeting handled, Hayden was always a step ahead of his own father. He sank a number of time in ruining much of daddy Hawthorne's investments, wooing a number of investors over with sweet words and sweeter deals. Much of the time, he found a number of underhanded ways to accomplish such. His father's stock plummeted a number of times and many of the land he'd acquired through business deals quickly faded on the European frontier. It all culminated to a number of technological advancements that mirrored his father's own. Being the first to accomplish them, patent them, and use them, it barred his father from utilizing his own R&D's progress.

Hayden's greatest accomplish was indeed sending his father over the edge. After stealing precious ideas and resources from right under his nose, Hayden's father finally took legal action, albeit in a very conniving, underhanded way. He ultimately annihilated his rival company through a number of environmental concerns, evidence of mishandling of hazard and toxic material, and a number of embezzling scandals directly tied to the CEO, CFO, and co-founder. Hayden simply walked away, knowing full well he did exactly what he'd set to accomplish.

At that, Hayden cut all ties to his family, aside from his sister and a few other siblings. While infuriated, much of what Hayden had done impressed his father, earning him a place reserved for just an incredibly short list of people his father had. That was quickly dashed away at Hayden's insistence on leaving it at that - going so far and just being alright with the outcome, not taking a step further in whatever direction he chose. Though, Hayden would argue he did take that step, it was just the step his father didn't want him to take. So, perhaps it was a last act of defiance from him.

Regardless, Hayden buggered off to a small college in Maine, acquired an English degree and a teaching license and settled in the outskirts of Augusta. All of his earnings had been locked away in a savings account and would remain untouched for quite some time. Hayden wanted a quite life after everything had been said and done and he was determined to achieve that. Contentment had been something Hayden always wanted; teaching was another thing he always wanted, but that aside, his father's own suffering came first.

For the next few years, he kept in close touch with his youngest sister, who confided in him quite a few things most of his other siblings, much less his parents, had no idea of. It didn't further escalate until Acacia was set to graduate from high school. She wanted art and paintings, galleries and studios, yet her father insisted she take over the company after she graduated from university. Hayden hadn't realized the plans until she'd told him. She likely hadn't told him for awhile, until it was nearly too late to change her own course, for the exact purpose she was wanting to prevent. Hayden took the issue with his father, who'd regaled him with a reminder that she was the last of his siblings, all of which disowned any responsibility to the Hawthorne legacy.

Infuriated, Hayden set up an appointment with his father, taking a plane to fly the few hours it took to reach his family business in LA. His father gave him an ultimatum: either Acacia take charge of the Hawthorne Corporation, effectively crushing everything that made Acacia who she was, or Hayden would take it, as he should have, and tap into that Hawthorne ambition his father knew was still there. Hayden reluctantly agreed, to which his father notified him of his impending death. He was losing a battle to stomach cancer, which the doctors didn't find until it was much too late. He had approximately three months left to live, giving Hayden three months to pack and move into his new, Lakewood Summit home that his father picked especially for him.

Hayden seethed, but complied, and in those three months, he found himself resigning to his fate. Perhaps this was what it had all been coming down to. He'd had his fun in the sun, got what he wanted from his father, and now he'd have to accept the consequences of his actions.

His father died behind schedule, a few months after his allotted day of death. The contents of the will had been doled out, Acacia would still attend Stanford, Hayden acquired a number of money, the Lakewood home, and a percentage of Hawthorne Corps' stock. Most importantly, he gained the family business and lost most, if not all, of himself in the process.

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❯❯❯ O C C U P A T I O N ❮❮❮

▻ CEO and owner of Hawthorne Energy Corporation based in downtown LA.

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❯❯❯ H O B B I E S ❮❮❮

▻ Fiction Writing - in Hayden's spare time, if he can find any, he often chips away at the novel he's wishing to someday get published. Under a pen name, of course; he wants the feeling of actually succeeding in selling a good book, rather than just plastering his name on something to make it sell.
▻ Country Club Fitness/Gym - Hayden perhaps spends quite a bit of time losing himself in a rigorous work out routine. He pushes himself undoubtedly hard and tends to forget that he has a threshold, which he often exceeds. A number of his injuries can be explained through simply forgetting that he can't run for 17 miles a day.
▻ Stargazing - something he'd indulged Acacia in for one of her birthdays, her twelfth to be exact, and ever since it's become tradition for them. When his head's feeling too full and he wants nothing more than to jump off a goddamn skyscraper to silence the ceaseless buzzing, Hayden drives himself as far out into the country or mountains as he can and pitches up a small fort of blankets to watch the stars on.
▻ Assists and Volunteers for the Academy - unfortunately, Hayden can't seem to stay away from academia and he does his best to free up time to assist Lakewood Academy in anything they require, or need more hands to help with. Mostly it's just finding people who are willing to pitch in for a potluck here and there when the school itself won't provide meals.

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❯❯❯ R E L A T I O N S H I P S ❮❮❮

Acacia Hawthorne – little sister – They talk via whatever IM service they can, if they don't directly call. They're both extremely close, and Hayden likes to take up a mentor role for his sister, but also acts as her confidant, and to some extent... perhaps even the father she never had the opportunity to get to know.

Elise Hawthorne – mother – A fashionista and a very strong woman, with her hand directly in the fashion industry. She's not to be trifled with and Hayden has a very thin relationship with her. They only ever talk because she requires monthly reports on how Hawthorne Corps is doing. (She ultimately loves her son to death)

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A Slightly Round Table

He loved him. He loved him even in his Hell

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Danny Belson - For Queen and Country

<sup>“When I was younger, I could remember anything, whether it had happened or not; but my faculties are decaying now and soon I shall be so I cannot remember any but the things that never happened. It is sad to go to pieces like this but we all have to do it.”
~ Mark Twain

| Demon | Beelzebub | Envy |</sup>

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| Name |

Daniel Hamilton Belson

| Date of Birth |

Unknown - Says it's March 17th and whatever year makes him 27 (currently 1993)

| Gender |

Male

| Sexuality |

Demisexual Biromantic

| Occupation |

Bartender

| In-Depth Appearance |

Well, it's usually hard to identify any appearance for a shapeshifter of any type, however, Daniel seems to be the exception to that rule. The imagination, even for a demon, can make long strides toward 'perfection' but that's not necessarily what Danny looks for. Maybe perfection in his objective sense, that he's gotten a look that satisfies him on a whole. Even from his weird amnesiac stunt, this seemed to come to the forefront of Danny's mind and that may hint to exactly the type of person Daniel sees in himself.

A 5'11" stature, usually of a lithe, muscular variety (definitely smaller than his health nut of a friend). He keeps his hair short cropped and coiffed too perfection. He's not really a fan of how his grey eyes look, so he doesn't like to bring too much attention to them, which helps when you're perpetually tired with a half-lidded outlook on the world. That being said, Daniel tends to attract darker tones to his wardrobe and he tends to teeter on stylishly posh (hipster is what Ethan calls it) to unbelievable punk that it hurts (he counts how many times Ethan yells for him to turn off the Ramones everyday). His voice comes off baritone, cream and air and just generally very smooth despite his penchant for smoking (his morning voice is what Ethan calls a mix of Boston chain smoking hooker and Gilbert Gottfried; he takes offense to this to the extreme).

Even with the ability to shapeshift and change his form, Daniel seems to find himself unattractive and that could very possibly be rooted in his personality. Regardless, the form he keeps, the one he considers truly him, holds too much sentimental value. What he looks at in the mirror reflects what he used to be back when times were simpler. When a particular gal shot the shit with him in a smoke filled parlor room somewhere in a hotel lobby down in California.

Oddly enough, the form he holds down is actually vaguely reminiscent of what his demonic form looks like. Not much changes on the overall layout. A pair of ram's horns sprout from his temples, curling over his own ears with another sprouting just beside it on his forehead, curving along the skull before pulling up in a point; a dark green, near blackness pools over his eyes, smoking emerald into the air around the corner; black, almost tattoo like lines if not for the sheen of wetness (they aren't actually wet) that makes it look almost like blood coat his body in harsh, jagged, yet symmetrical edges; his hands can curl up into claws that look more like knifes than fingers. Most of all, in and out of his demonic form, Daniel has the flexibility of a cat and often attributes himself to such mannerisms.

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| Personality |

♦ Snarky ♦ A Punk ♦ Overprotective ♦ Disrespectful ♦

What's there to say?

Not a man on earth that could whip a wit sharper than him. (That's a bold faced lie)

Prickliest might be an apt way of describing Daniel. It's not far off, like the tongue snapping with another remark no one asked for. That turns into a half-smile from his corner with a glass of whiskey and a cigarette for a chaser. Always half-unwanted but always there to throw a comment, a one-liner for effect before that mouth zips shut and his eyes roam. He's an addition, but unforgettable enough to be a regular one. The snark rabble with the leather jacket, often called a joke even if he's far from it. Maybe that's a good definition, not a lie like the ones off his tongue. A regular drifter, finds himself in a group and floats away. Comes back at the same time, wanted or not.

Snark and crass beyond the semi-act that it is, makes a half. The other half sits someone who fancies watching people and remembering. Deep drags of smoke that taste like bombshells and wooden dance floors. Nostalgia makes a big part of the second half. Specific points the float hems of dresses and burning soles on his nose. Having to stand up and act the part, or stand up and ready a fist.

Loyalty. (It's jealousy)
Protection. (That's just another word for overbearing)

Doubts find themselves chilling a glass of hard liquor and shooting a liver that can't help but hate him, even in its lack of decay. Projection staining his teeth with cigarettes because he forgets he can change that smile. All the things that bury an envy for simpler days in his stomach, cause him to look back every chance he gets. Letting go is for children.

| Likes & Dislikes |

✔People Watching
✔Cigarettes
✔Sitting on Balconies Watching Sunsets/Sunrises
✔Mornings
✔Coffee
✔Mints (Cause his breath smells bad from coffee, cigarettes, and alcohol)
✔Hard Liquor

✘Reckless People
✘Doing Dumb Shit
✘Loud/Obvious Assholes
✘People Being Assholes To His Friends (Only he's allowed to be an asshole)
✘Fucking cats man
✘Fae (Not really, just their fucking sparkles getting on everything)
✘Shedding. Fucking Man. Fuck.

| History |

_{Forget me. Forgive me.
It'll only break smash break your heart
Bleed the sun through the roof red crimson blood maroon
Hot like your skin colored freckled shoulders
Whisper wind whistling in my ears
Cold cold blue cold blue blue blue blue
Yellow sun dress tiny waists
Bleed green shirts green green like eyes like envy}

Time frames itself in a circle, sometimes a string; it depends on who you ask. For a primordial being—vanity's close enough, sure—time only means watching mountains waft into dust and mole hills, metaphorical and not, turn into mountains. That doesn't matter much, the old days, that is—it doesn't matter beyond birth, shit happening, and then suddenly modern-times. Well, unimportant to him, at least.

Like any dumb romantic whatsit, the world seemed dull until boom they came in to color the world in pretty reds and blues and yellows. You know, the usual. And yet, he often brushes that moment off like it didn't affect him—like it didn't drive a pole through his blackened heart and colored it red and blue and yellow. They started as friends, meeting in a grocery mart in Sacramento. She worked for a big law firm, a secretary for a man that smelled of Cuban cigars and too much piss-cologne. At that moment, he found work as an editor to a publishing company downtown a few blocks away. They both lived in neighboring apartment complexes in east Sacramento.

She wore knee-length dresses, fitted to the best of her ability around a too thin waist, and an assortment of hats despite her lack of a shoe collection—either the deep, lipstick red heels or black loafers. She'd sing under her breath, whisper tones of Billie Holiday or Bing Crosby. And she'd smile over the kitchen counter, a finger of whiskey in her glass and gossip on her tongue, a complain not far away. He didn't know he'd fallen until she'd slipped out of his fingers, dancing along the floor in red toes and a the hem of her dress caught in her hands, dipped in the arms of another man.

Envy. Funny how it never strolled too far away—his in a green button up, gripping her waist soft but firm.

Opportunity to dissolve into the very being he was created to be came in vast numbers. Yet, he'd been softened, his heart less black than years before. He took none until he found himself vowing to protect the little shred of happiness she'd been awarded. The two, minus he, took up a family before the war hit hard and, well... her happiness meant more than his petty envy, even if he still tempted on the sly.

Protecting not only her, but the man she came to love, all the way in grey toned France remained difficult. He expected such. And when things died down, turned in their favor, he took a chance; he'd be okay, so would she. He wouldn't. A being of his power, well, faking deaths just came natural—natural just another word for simple, in this case. He'd turned up later, boarding a ship out to America with a different face and sought to detach himself from what had driven so deeply in his skin, like barbs on a hook.

Barbs don't leave easy. A year later, he found himself a woman, literally, and bought the empty house across from theirs. And years past. And years past. Everything hurt. And then they didn't. And then they hurt again. Eventually, she died and he moved on to watch her only child. It became a routine, watching a kid grow up and then watching that adult make the same mistakes as their mother or, well, eventually grandmother, and looking back again and again and growing a seed of hatred, letting it blossom and fall away into the eyes of another child.

He was content to do that, sure, until this particular one coming up at age 8 teetering alone on the edge of a playground. A friend. He'd fall for the same shtick again later in life, but the risk was worth it if it just meant this kid could have a friend. He'd promised, held that vow to his heart despite it growing stone cold again. And in doing so, he let everything but the essentials just wash away—things like remember what song she liked to listen to while washing the dishes, or what it was like to see her eyes when she laughed. Everything but a vow and the very important fact that he wasn't human, locked up in a tiny box and shoved in the back of his subconscious for later.

Growing up having to remember to actually, consciously change features into the face he used to have, came easier than expected. Daniel. Daniel Belson. A trouble child who got into too many fights for hanging around a weird kid. Who started fights and thrived off the energy of jealousy they brewed. A little demon and, as the years passed, that realization became a fact even with the lock on his memories, the instinct still remained and the nostalgia, however odd and out of place, staid put. Envy of the past, he called it with a cigarette in his sixteen year old lips, nabbed from a man on the subway after a hasty move to the UK. It made the boy laugh for some reason or other. That's all that mattered.

That's all that ever mattered. Hearing his quiet whispers to Frank Sinatra go into full bursting moans to Adele or Journey. That taste in music could be better, but not as good as seeing a full row of white teeth begging him to join. Daniel followed wherever he'd take them or staid put whenever asked. More swinging, dancing, feet bouncing off hard floor instead of wood in converse instead of dance shoes, throwing back colorful drinks instead of sipping at bourbon. This time he caught himself. Fool thought it would help.

But like a key, the raging storm ready to swallow him and the rest unlocked what he pushed back. And they all flooded in and he reeled back, scared now. His truth came to him as the entire truth flooded the world. Beasts like him with flood lights shone all over cast large shadows that couldn't be painted away. Panic and fear set in people he used to blend in with, a literal demon, black against the backdrop of colorful humanity. And he found himself scared those thoughts of fear and panic would spread to him, of it happening again like a wheel, a circle he found himself slotted in.

Envy, after all, came in green tones.

| Family |

Dana King - [Not Related]

_{A young witch who works at a bookshop/book repair shop just a few blocks from the apartments. She lives far enough away that she has to take the subway to work every morning. She stays over if her day ends super late; she brings the cat, who absolutely despises Daniel. Dana also tends to have a bum boyfriend who comes over, one of those 'men stuck out of time' deal from the middle ages. He's odd, but not in the way one would expect; Lionel actually fits in perfectly with this world and that creeps the shit out of Daniel the most. He's quirky and odd and has a penchant for bringing in stray dogs, which doesn't help his situation because Ethan's a fucking dog hoarder too.}

| Strengths |

• Compulsive Liar
• Perceptive
• Elusive

| Weaknesses |

• Self-Deprecating
• Temperamental
• Overbearing

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| Theme |

Roses – The Chainsmokers
_{” Deep in my bones, I can feel you
Take me back to a time only we knew
Hideaway
We could waste the night with an old film
Smoke a little weed on the couch in the back room
Hideaway
Say you'll never let me go ”}

| House Number |

Faraday Heights - 26B

| Extra Information |

Shapeshifts, which is really it.
He denies it, but pet his hair and he'll fucking conk out immediately (Ethan says he purrs but that's totally dumb. Stupid. No he doesn't. Shut up.)

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A Slightly Round Table

Suns live in you

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Sunny Morris - Camp Liberty

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”Here comes the sun - doo doo doo doo - here comes the sun
And I say it's all right.”

–The Beatles
Walking on Sunshine - Katrina and the Waves | Don't Stop Me Now - Queen

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|Full Name|

Samson Ray Morris

|Nickname|

Sunny

|Birth Date|

July 3rd, 1998

|Age|

18

|Gender|

Male

|Sexuality|

Homosexual

|Sexually Active|

"Nah, I like to think I'm savin' myself; that, in itself, can have many connotations."

|Relationship Status|

Single

|Role|

Team Purple Member

|Years At Camp|

4

|Team Color|

Purple! (It's not yellow, but close enough? not at all)

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|In Depth Appearance|

A taller fellow, with his 6'1" height to spread all the muscle mass and definition easily, Sunny does boast a brighter, glowing complexion - much to the complaint of his mother, who can't seem to find the right foundation that doesn't make her skin break out into hives. The staple of Sunny's look depends solely on Sunny's smile: a slow, small thing that ever so gradually breaks into a beaming glow of white teeth. It reaches his eyes, adding a layer of depth to the star burst of green that envelopes the pool of white it settles in. His voice comes quiet, full of enthusiasm but never an octave or decibel higher than it needs to be. Not that he tries hard to keep his voice low, or anything (haha, he does; he tries so hard). Sunny's a strapping guy, peaked at teenage, physical prowess that belies a healthy and active lifestyle - comes to no surprise, with how much energy he seems to expend each day.

By no means could Sunny achieve perfection, though. Cheekbones may be cut with undoubted precision, but they tend to offset the prominent laugh lines and deep dimples that stretch his cheeks. His lips are plush and pert, making it look smaller than it is while it sits above his jutting chin and hard jawline. He walks with a slight slouch, appearing smaller than he actually is and has a notorious case of pigeon toes (they're slanted inward, toward each other, even when he walks). A minor bow-leg tops everything off in a very off balance set, with his lower have being rather heavy in the imperfections.

He doesn't mind, though; people find beauty in everything.

Aside from that, Sunny dresses mostly for the summer, preferring khaki shorts and tank tops that range from ill-fitting to a size too small. His shoes are usually slip-ons, Vans and the like, though he does own a pair of galaxy print converse that he totes around in on special occasions. He's not the most well dressed, but he does have some fashion sense. It shows in the usual things he wears and the fact that he's more than willing to switch it up without coming off as trying too hard or having no clue what he's doing. He supposes he's at least got some mind for how to not look dumb.

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|Habits & Quirks|

• True to form, his facial reactions are slow (it's like grinning small and then watching it slowly grow larger, except this is a wider spectrum)
• Gives the thumbs up sign for everything. Everything. Just about everything. Pretty much everything.
• You know how people stretch? It's usually subdued in public - like a, eh, you know, gotta get the kinks out thing. For Sunny that's a no. He goes full on 'cat just got done sun napping' mode; it can be absurdly sexual and he shows a lot of skin and it's all not on purpose
• Eats like a mouse; small bites, but he also eats surprisingly fast?
• Takes a Tide To Go stick everywhere and knows how to get any kind of stain out of any kind of fabric (hypothesis: would make a good serial killer)
• Lays his head on everyone's lap. Stranger or no.

|Likes & Dislikes|

✔ Yellow
✔ Good Times; Good People
✔ Bad B-Films
✔ Cinematography
✔ Taking Photos
✔ Scenic Views
✔ Fluffy Aminals
✔ Existentialism

✘ The General Concept of Pessimism
✘ Excuses
✘ Fallacies and Liars
✘ Going Overboard on the Competitive Thing
✘ That Falling Feeling Just Before You Wake Up
✘ Tragedies
✘ Ginger (the food)
✘ Orange Juice

|Fears & Phobias|

• Finding discontentment in his life.
• Falling.

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|Good Personality Traits|

• Optimistic
• Always Happy
• Confident/Shameless
• Concerned with doing the Right Thing

|Bad Personality Traits|

• Has Issues With Self-Sacrifice
• Ironically Doesn't Think He Deserves a lot of Good Stuff
• Tends to Throw Himself at Problems
• Case of the Wrong Place, Wrong Time Conundrum (In other words, stinks his nose where it shouldn't belong)

|Personality|

It seems trite to describe someone as a 'veritable ball of sunshine' however, how else can anyone describe Sunny? It's in his name.

That seems like an injustice, though. Who is Sunny besides that? That's honestly what a lot of people ask and it's the number one reason to dislike him. Too optimistic. Too happy. Too carefree. But it's like getting a card that sings 'Pocketful of Sunshine' on repeat. At first, it's like, 'Really? This song? Are you kidding me?' and then you open it again. And again. And again. And suddenly you're standing atop your bay windows in the middle of the afternoon shaking your hips for all the world to see, singing along like no one's business.

_{did you just describe that one scene from Easy A? The short answer: yes. The long answer: yes, definitely.}

Weird analogies aside, Sunny's depth lie between the lines of his upbeat personality. He's not overly enthusiastic, preferring the dopey smile to an all out beaming grin. There's always something to smile about, even in moments of duress - Sunny never has a bad word to say. And, well, yeah, he's the kind of person who likes to see the good inherent in everyone. The catch is that he knows when something like that matters and he knows when it doesn't mean a lick of anything. Potential means just that, untapped and there for the taking; potential is opportunity. While people have the potential to do dig the good from under the surface, it doesn't mean they'll take the opportunity when handed it. And to Sunny, it's more about doing the right thing than doing what he thinks is good and nice.

That doesn't mean he can't try, though. And maybe that's where he just kind of stumbles along.

Now, Sunny has a lot of friends - he doesn't care to count his enemies - and that's saying something. He's good at making nice, good at small talk, good at doing something kind and thoughtful, if small or trivial. But having a lot of 'friends' doesn't mean much when most of them wouldn't crawl to your corner in times of struggle. Sunny may have a lot of people he calls friends (read: acquaintances), but he doesn't have many people he could truly consider friends. People willing to be there for more than just what he gives them on the surface. People that he doesn't just say hi, wave, and move on. That's possibly Sunny's biggest flaw - getting lost in a sea of people. He likes to call it 'isolated in present company' as a joke to mostly himself and his mother.

In other circumstances, Sunny has a tendency to but into situations where he shouldn't. He likes to make things his business, especially if that thing comes at the expense of another person. Sometimes it just takes a moment to think about what he should do to stop himself and most of the time it never ends successfully. That's also possibly why he finds himself always arriving at the worst possible time. A lot of his efforts seem to be ill-timed and that's possibly his fault for having a knack for wandering. Sunny's mom always had a knack for finding him in the principal's office, clutching some random stray and going on about how a group of boys found it funny to throw rocks at it. Earning a few scraps for the sake of others, well, that's just a day in the life of Sunny Morris.

|Place Of Origin|

Seattle, Washington

|Background|

A lot of Sunny's personality can be derived from an amalgamation of his mother and father's extremely awkward meet-cute.

Ya see, Daisy Cavendish had a knack for coming off as strong willed. Her coworkers coined the nickname Pushing Daisies - really creative bunch. Cross that lady and it ends up a sure fire way of landing in an early grave. Unfortunately, that attitude didn't come off as endearing enough to her newly minted boss, a misogynist through-and-through. Young upstart at a moderately well-known magazine turned into busting tables and giving handsy men the stink eye.

It so happened one of those handsy men ended up being Sunny's father - the definition of handsy being Daisy's own edit. The wild gestures of Jacob Morris landed him in stern talking to, having accidentally slapped every waiter in the restaurant square on the ass - his hands, like himself, did not discriminate. It went more like him sitting in the corner of his booth seat once he'd been seen alone, trying not to cry at Daisy's accusatory tone and thinly veiled threats of castration. Sadly, that earned her a dismissal immediately with her measly twenty bucks in tips.

However, the young man had a slight death wish and went after her in hopes of apologizing for being a little too out of sorts and for getting her fired. In fact, he offered her a job where he worked, which, in return, earned him a heavy slap to the face. Persistent as ever, he spat out another apology and offered to pay for her cab fair - what he thought would be another slap was a reluctant consideration on both the job offer and the cab fair. She never did allow him to pay the cab fair, but she took up the job in a heartbeat. Luckily for them, Daisy rode the chain of command higher than she expected, so it wasn't out of the question that once she was no longer his subordinate and she no longer thought he was a creep that they started dating.

A cute summary of how life ended up to where it eventually landed now, with his mother busy roaming the world and his father chasing the oddest dream in Sunny could conceivable think of - owning an herb and spices bookstore didn't seem like the most... exciting opportunity. When Sunny came along, things got rough before they could ever get better. Daisy seemed more preoccupied with ambition than she did settling down and Jacob looked more lost when it came to raising a kid than he did that one time he'd stumbled into a corn maze drunk visiting Daisy's family. Life, for the most part, didn't want to cooperate until thing looked far worse than they ever did. Tried and true, Sunny came out all smiles and their kid couldn't have been more of a godsend. Struggles or no, Sunny brightened any room he waddled into and made the dark, bleak world look a lot better off than it used to.

Usually, having an unexpected, unplanned kid left things hanging; it made things difficult and put pressure on an already festering wound. Sunny proved an exception and the definition of a happy accident. Without the boy to act as a cohesive to a pressured marriage, Daisy and Jacob might not have had it in them to continue, no matter their love for each other. Sunny, being the ball of sunshine that he is, made things easier while making other things harder. For the most part, he made the worst things seem minuscule in comparison to his shining smile.

And the world, to his parents, doesn't deserve a kid like him. (He doesn't think he deserves much, though, something that can't be changed so easily with a smile)

|Miscellaneous|

Sunny's mostly deaf and uses hearing aids. He's been such since the age of 12, due to a nasty flu virus causing sudden sensorineural hearing loss. The immediate treatment helped and over the course of a few days, Sunny got his hearing back. However, they'd waited just a moment too long and as the years go by, Sunny loses another volume of his hearing. He's got some shiny hearing aids, however, that help tremendously, even if it's not a permanent fix. So far, he's quite excellent at ASL and is currently working on learning how to read lips.

|Extra|

I love writing poetry when the inspiration hits me. I'm sure I have tons of crap saved up somewhere in a notebook or something. Haha. ;3;

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A Slightly Round Table

When the heart syncs with a rhythm, mountains move

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Holden Fields - Camp Liberty

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”Thank you for the tragedy. I need it for my art.”

–Kurt Cobain
Roses - The Chainsmokers (ft. ROZES) | Lean On - Major Lazer and DJ Snake (Ft. MØ)

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|Full Name|

Holden Coleman Fields

|Nickname|

Out of everyone in his family, Holden found the most in common with his bedridden grandmother. She'd always thought he looked more like a Cole and would laugh at her own, barely there joke when she'd call him Porter. To say the least, Holden enjoys both nicknames, though he prefers Cole the most.

|Birth Date|

November 8th, 1998

|Age|

18

|Gender|

Male

|Sexuality|

Homosexual

|Sexually Active|

Not Really

|Relationship Status|

Single

|Role|

Member of Team Pink!

|Years At Camp|

4

|Team Color|

Pink

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|In Depth Appearance|

Something of a DJ Couture - or, well, nah. That's not a good term for it. Really he just looks kind of out there with his ratty hoodies and frayed jeans; grey Henley and worn leather jackets. With a pair of headphones always wrapped around his head or hanging from his neck, Holden's slouch and penchant for staring at his feet make him seem a lot smaller than his 6'0" height affords him. Having spent most of his life dancing, however, gives Holden a lean, very flexible form that his posture hides in it's reclusive form.

If anything, Holden blends well into the background until he starts moving - drifting away from his wallflower, unappealing posture as he does so. His steps turn deliberate, fluid in motion and every part of his body takes steps in tandem, lets the movement take control of form and body as his mind follows. Efficient and graceful when he desperately wants to be, Holden has impeccable balance and a kind of bob to his form that syncs with the beat of whatever song he's moving toward. Walking, dancing, maybe sitting, when Holden wants to be, he steps out of the shell he often hides away in to let every part of him sing the words he can't put into sentences.

Not to say that he doesn't talk, Holden just doesn't know how to express himself beyond what he knows - music. His tone is a tad quiet with an airy quality to it that's a humming baritone. It's smooth, evident that he doesn't talk often and when he does, it's usually in clipped, efficient sentences.

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|Habits & Quirks|

• Shakes cups and glasses before drinking out of them, full or not
• Always listening to music
• Lip syncs and always moving to some kind of backdrop
• Takes "Dance like no one's watching" to a new level of oblivious
• When without music, he'll mumble notes to songs he knows (like entire nine yards, key changes, flats, sharps, time changes)
• Clenches his jaw in thought and when nervous

|Likes & Dislikes|

✔ Hiding away in his own head
✔ Any instrument
✔ Listening to people sing (good or bad)
✔ Poetry
✔ Heights (sitting on trees, in particular)
✔ Humming
✔ Dancing

✘ Sitting still
✘ The cold
✘ Cold food
✘ Silence
✘ The dark
✘ Being uncomfortable
✘ Feeling itchy

|Fears & Phobias|

• Has a deep, unsettling fear of the dark, especially if it's accompanied with silence. Can't deal with scary movies unless they have a constant backdrop of music.
• Nihilism. Just the general concept. Any time he has any deep thoughts about philosophy, he regresses into an existential crisis. It's not a fun sight.

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|Good Personality Traits|

• Diligent
• Focused
• Thick Skinned
• Passionate

|Bad Personality Traits|

• Oblivious to People
• Solitary
• Susceptible to Burnouts
• Not a Team Player

|Personality|

A real 'Do it Yourself' kinda guy and not because Holden's a prickly individual either. He just doesn't like acknowledging the fact that there are people around him, there to help. It's likely some deep psychological thing, but Holden's not the type for introspection. He's kind of the type to let things go on and on until whatever's ailing him ends up serious.

You know the type. Snuffly nose turns into hacking cough turns into a 108F fever and extreme dehydration.

If someone were to delve deeper into that aspect of Holden's personality, they'd find a boy that's often too scared of digging himself into a hole and having all of these options to reel himself out, but not taking them. It's almost a pride thing, but more so, it's a generation of conditioning for a family that's holds independence to an insurmountable standard. Often, if you find yourself in a hole and you can't get out, maybe that's where you belong. It's a scary thought and, among other deep, scary thoughts, it's one of the things keeping Holden from ever looking in to fix his problems. In turn, it holds him back from looking out to find a solution.

Thus, Holden lives in his own world, not even his own head. Music provides both an outlet and a means of success for him. It's the only thing he's feasibly good at and Holden clings to the concept like a lifeline. He's paved a path for himself solely relying on his talent and the skills that he accumulates through it. And he'll dive head first into whatever project he's currently attempting, making that the sole focus of his entire being and effectively shutting out the people around him. The world itself remains, but the people that hold their hands out and offer kind smiles aren't there. Better to think they aren't then face the guilt of having to cave in to his need for some form of assistance.

That makes Holden a very solitary individual, especially when he's tasked with anything that's not his music. It's a recurring problem, people melding into the background, and he often has to rip himself out of his own world before he gets lost wandering himself. Subconscious thinking tends to leave Holden on the precipice of healthy thinking and plummeting into a fierce burnout. If he doesn't take the time to reevaluate his surroundings, he has a deep tendency to completely drive himself into the ground, exhausted and lacking any form of coherent thought that's not negative. He's still looking for something that has any effect in grounding. So far, nothing's really worked in his favor as a long term fix.

|Place Of Origin|

Carson City, Nevada

|Background|

Living with a family like his, well, that's kind of a trial of will and determination.

In Holden's home, it's the typical Lawyer Mom and Doctor Dad combo and that really just cinches anyone in a bind that's really, really hard to get out of. Oddly enough, they didn't expect any of their children to follow in their footsteps. What they did expect, however, could probably have been the worse option out of the two. They expected both independence and lack of failure. Summed up, the Fields children were kind of screwed from the beginning.

What didn't help for the youngest of three, Holden, was that his two older siblings successfully jumped the hurdles their parents set for them. Especially when one of them became a rather successful fashion designer who'd settled in Manhattan. And then the sister decided she'd like to become a writer and, whilst she doesn't have movie deals, she found enough success to live a comfortable life without invoking their parent's ire.

Things didn't and wouldn't look up for Holden who'd found his niche in music. And really, it was all kinds of music and an absolute plethora of career options that he didn't know what to do with. The older Holden got, the more passionate he got, the less willing he got to come out of the shell of a world he'd created with a pair of giant headphones and an iPod with hundreds of songs.

Eventually, Holden found himself drawn more to dance than the numerous things he'd dove headfirst into. Unfortunately, that meant his parents expected him to solely stick to those guns and provide for himself. He'd somehow squeezed a number of dance lessons out of the two and from there he tried his best to take off without tripping. However, that didn't mean Holden ever came out of his shell outside of recitals or practice or tutors, it just meant he had another outlet that he could potentially turn into something more.

Which was the likely reason he'd landed himself in Camp Liberty for four consecutive years, though he's certain not many people could remember his face beyond the same introduction three years prior.

|Miscellaneous|

Ever since his first year, Holden's been successful at smuggling his music into the camp to the point he'd walk around with his headphones without much care. He always somehow procures another one if the first is taken - they stopped taking them after the fifth pair where it was threatening to become a running gag.

|Extra|

Video games! I play video games!

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A Slightly Round Table

Maybe burning it down would be the happiest ending in a list of possibilities

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Foxtrot Sinclair - The Mundane

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“and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart”
-ee cummings, 'i carry your heart with me(i carry it in'

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|Name|

Foxtrot Olivier Sinclair

|Nickname|

Fox
Foxy

|Birth Date|

March 19th, 1997

|Age|

18

|Gender|

Male

|Sexuality|

Homosexual as fuCK

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"Let loss reveal it."

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|In Depth Appearance|

A sweet child.

That's Foxtrot in a nutshell. He looks like he'd be a sweet boy, the kind old grannies used to dote on at the super market. Where aunts pinched his cheeks and uncles rustled his hair. For the most part, Fox felt an indifference to the attention; it neither harmed nor aided him. But, at an older age, he did realize he'd taken their kindness for granted. Though, Fox never really did grow out of his 'sweet child' stage and maybe he's more of a pretty boy than he'd like to admit.

Pretty boy seems to be a good estimate, though. Of course, Fox likes to carry himself in less of an arrogant, confident manner. Subconsciously, Fox walks with a heavy cadence. His posture is much to be desired (looking 5'7" when he's actually 5'9") and, though his physique is above average, a quick look would immediately color him scrawny. Especially since Fox is keen on wearing sweaters and coats and as many layers as possible in order to protect himself. He wears his clothes like armor and keeps his charming smile and twinkling doe brown eyes as a visor.

|Scars, Tattoos, Piercings|

Left side of his neck, just below his ear, reads a scripture, "Those who were rebuilding the wall and those who carried burdens took their load with one hand doing the work and the other holding a weapon," in Hebrew.

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"St. Jude, the patron saint of the lost causes."

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|Likes & Dislikes|

• Apple Watches
• Stargazing
• Cats
• The Quiet
• Technology
• Sci-Fi
• Nathan Fillion
• Loud Noises
• Old Ratty Cars
• Mullets
• Hot Weather
• Birds (damn present time DINOSAURS!)
• Coffee
• Ice Cream Sandwiches

|Hobbies|

• Cycling
• Cataloging Plants
• Professional Marathon...-ing TV Shows

|Habits|

• He blinks really hard when he's nervous or excited. (Like, Fox scrunches up his face, cheeks, and nose as he blinks)
• Fox likes to scratch his hairline just above his right ear whenever he's lying. It gets incredibly itchy any time he knows he's lying to someone, so he waits to scratch it until the urge is too much and he does so super fast and hard that it's noticeable.
• Whenever he's about to do something with his hands, Fox has the tendency to wiggle them or, as his mother refers to it, he spirit fingers to psych himself up.

|Fears|

☠Abrupt and very loud noises (including Thunderstorms)
☠Kind of abandonment issues (explained in his history)
☠Coming out of one his portals into a universe where earth's past had been completely changed into a dystopian future (super specific)

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"St. Jude, we were lost before she started."

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|Personality|

♦ Prudent ♦ Reserved ♦ Vindictive ♦ Quiet ♦

"A crown of marigold sits atop my head as I survey the glory of my kingdom built upon sand."

In all the history of the world, it is the people who try the hardest to be nice who have the need for goodness in their hearts. Who stare at the void in themselves and wait for it to stare back. Fox embodies this craving intently—a man who wishes nothing but the goodness in his heart to be true. Walking with a burden upon one's shoulders, an Atlas for the weight of a tragedy, often clouds self-judgement.

And the question evident always becomes: how can a broken man be a good one?

Picking up the pieces left in the wake of an accident often becomes the goal in life and purpose is dashed away to be replaced with fixing. Because what does fixing do other than to highlight the cracks in a chassis. And then people will look and think, "That man is but part of who he used to be; he is not worth noting." Fixed things cannot come out renewed, merely an iteration of what used to be.

And the art of Kintsugi means a societal death wish. When, in fact, it belies a moral to the story. The mistakes we make are beautiful. Our flaws, the cracks that line our porcelain, our ivory, our ebony features seem a liability. When, in fact, glued back together, they create something far better than what used to be.

But Fox remains young, ignorant of the shiny grace between the stitches in his flesh. And the flaws hush him, draw him away from the people around him. Further into himself, Fox values introspection over peer evaluation. He prefers the quiet to the churning din of a crowd of people talking at once. He approaches the situation with the future in mind, analytic and logical until the problem reveals its solution. He sees the slights against him and doesn't think of forgiveness, but evenness. A balance of the scales until things return to normal.

People, outside of himself, are just a condition and their rage and their hurt and the pain they inflict upon others is just a symptom. People can be beasts. Afraid of what comes and what may come. Frightened by the consequences rather than the actions themselves and Fox supposes that's him. Supposes that his need to rebalance the scales actually tips them further. Or that his foresight reduces him to paranoia and anxiety. Maybe evading the individuals that yearn your company leaves both parties bitter and wanting and lost. But he looks at his mother and thinks, that's what happens when you love someone too much. When you divide your love into sums and give it away uncaring, that leaves you open to failing them and them failing you. And what has he done? Failed his mother and let her love for him burn to pieces.

Burn in a sea of wilting poppies.

|History|

"Am I troubled?" Fox turns, his eyes on the windows of a blue car.

"You're broken," his father whispers in his ear.

Foxtrot, a dance. His parents' dance.

Marie Orville married Thomas Sinclair due merely to pregnancy. Her one and only child, she'd determined, wouldn't be born into the world without a father. Thomas agreed. They danced, eight months pregnant, to a simple and very slowed foxtrot. However, whether due to Marie's excitement or anxiety, her water broke on their wooden dance floor and she was rushed straight to the hospital. The birth of her only son came too quickly, and too painless, for the drugs of the time to have reduced her to feeling little but a pinprick in her labor. However, even as a premature baby, her son came out as healthy as he could be.

The name on the tip of her tongue came fast: Foxtrot.

Thomas gave her the oddest of looks, but acquiesced, no less. She was the mother after all, it was her decision.

In the town of Hildale, Utah, the Sinclair family raised Foxtrot on quiet ideals and lack of strife. Things, for the most part, remained free of turmoil, though religious ignorance could attest to that. Thomas did his best to raise his child under rather stringent Mormon views, of which his mother had second guesses toward. Fox, unlike many Mormon boys his age, was gladly exposed via his mother, who did her best to subtly teach him that there was more to life than die hard religion. That, though Fox remained much like other kids in public, sowed a small seed of dissent and the older Fox got, the more he questioned his faith and the faith of other people.

And that, honestly is how Fox's life goes.

Well, mostly.

They hit a bump not a few years ago. More like a brick wall, rather than a bump. A bump one can traverse, rustled, but okay for the most part. No, this felt more like slamming into something solid and stopping completely. The world went on, but the Sinclairs never quite caught up.

At the age of 7, Foxtrot lost his father.

A convention was being held in Utah's capital, something his father usually disregarded. Having a small child gave a reasonable excuse, that surpassed 'lacking in faith' and most people didn't question much. The Sinclairs were a harmless family. Unfortunately, this time they didn't have much to go on, as the church provided transportation for the reasonably young and Fox climbed aboard the bus with a broad smile. For a child who, more or less went with whatever he'd learned, the convention seemed sub par. Too much noise and the words jumbled into each other and eventually, like any child, Fox wandered off.

However, the end of the religious gathering marked freedom and Fox boarded the bus with more enthusiasm than he did coming. The trip back remained mild until they'd hit the halfway point and the rolling clouds over the hills puffed and blackened the sky until lightning ripped the clouds in half and rain hammered down. For a bus, not too much, though the majority of the children inside screamed and hollered for their parents. For the vehicles following, it didn't bode well.

On the interstate, a record total number of car accidents tallied that day with the winds having reached record highs and the rain pounded the asphalt without relent. The only accident that occurred for the trip of church goers happened to Marie and Thomas, smack dab in front of the bus. Unable to stop properly, the bus collided with the small vehicle and sent it skirting off the edge of the road. Racked with fear, Fox didn't realize the impending doom that his family would suffer and when the bus driver pulled over and looked directly at him, he still had no idea.

It wasn't until they pulled his mother out broken and bleeding, sobbing for the man under the wreckage, that it hit Fox. And suddenly the thunder and the lightning that stifled him, the loud crash that had him scurrying under the seat, that meant nothing. The moment the ambulance came, the moment the police piled around the section of road and the rain died down to a reasonable patter, and he, as well as all the other children, were checked for serious injuries, did Fox realize what had happened.

Someone pointed to him not long after, and he was whisked away by a uniform and a pair of lights to sit in a police car with a lady he didn't know. He told her what he could for a seven year old, that grandad and grandma lived far, far away and that mommy's parents lived in the dirt with God. No one would come, that's all he knew, and so, with as much pity as the officer could muster, she staid with him in the waiting room at the state hospital for word on his mother. Apparently his father 'died on impact' and he wasn't allowed to see him.

His mother came out the next day, or at least, he was allowed to see her. Marie, unable to move most of her face, and both her arms could only hum Fox a quiet song and allowed him to rest with her. He didn't move much, and when it came time to go home, he did what he could for her with the rest of the community. The days were filled with people in the house, which he didn't mind much, but for a child picking up his own pieces, it didn't leave a lot of room for him to grief. And maybe that's different for children, but Fox could only ever look at his mother for an example. For a kid, death struck him harder than most. It wasn't the realization that dad wouldn't ever come home, but that mother would suffer for it. Maybe that would come later. Maybe he'd realize a lot more things sooner, but now all he could think of was how empty his mother looked when she did her best to smile.

From this point on, Foxtrot dealt with varying issues that popped up. He'd run into mental health problems, mainly dealing with abandonment and anxiety. From a very young age, Fox stopped attending church, began branching out into various other things. He looked into other religions, saw things that seemed nice, familiar, gave him hope. And thus began his chase for some kind of closure, some kind of God out there to tell him what happened to his family meant something more than just tragedy. It became taking care of his mother whenever she'd relapse and he'd find her staring blankly at a wall with half her face dropping. She tried her best to keep her son faithful, maybe to cling on to whatever her husband wanted out of the actual book of Mormon. Unfortunately, with her lapse in cognitive thought once in a while and pounding headaches when stress shot high, that didn't work for Marie very well.

Thus, Fox drowned most his time in academics, finding a nice place in Utah's less than Mormon group of students and excelling at what he put his mind to. Not necessarily a straight A student, but Fox kept up with the more work load oriented, college go-getters. He didn't do it for the same thing, but at least it meant something to him. Not valedictorian material, more like a decent college student and an excellent high school kid.

It wasn't until recently that his life uprooted and his mother saw it first hand. First hand being, "holy shit what the hell did my son just do to the cat," and then literally pushing him into his room to get packed. They left Hildale posthaste once Marie found a nice, secluded little town in the Washington pine forests. Verona. Cute name. Sounded a lot like Romeo and Juliet. Marie made sure to slap the shit out of her son for the ceaseless references and puns on the way there.

|Family|

Marie Orville Sinclair - Mother (43); worked as a secretary for a police department; currently interviewing for a job as a secretary for Verona's elementary school.

|Theme Song|

St. Jude - Florence and the Machine
_{”And I was on the island and you were there too
But somehow through the storm I couldn't get to you
St. Jude; somehow she knew”}

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"St. Jude, we lay in bed as she whipped around us"

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|Power Name|

Dimension Manipulation

|Power Descrption|

The ability to rip open a dimensions for varying uses, mostly travel.

|Abilities|

• With so many universes at his disposal, it must be obvious that he can quite literally rip into whatever dimension or universe he chooses. Not so much. Fox, due to his vast understanding of nothing beyond his own world, can only rip open a pocket dimension of complete and utter blankness. There's nothing inside it. It's what physics likes to call a realm of infinite void. However, what it can do is allow Fox to poke a hole in his universe, and then fold the entirety of it until two points align and then simply slip into the blank dimension and appear on the other side. Boom done. Instantaneous travel achieved. These portals come in varying sizes, from tiny to enormous. Well, for Fox it's tiny to about the size of a door.
• An extension of this knack for instantaneous teleportation: for combat, Fox can rip open varying portals with his mind and use them all to direct any kind of attack through. Very useful for team situations, in which Fox can open a door size portal and use someone's, let's say, energy beams and direct them through a multitude of portals to increase range or for unpredictability!

|Drawbacks/Weaknesses|

• The only drawback that Fox can think of is losing track of time. In his blank dimension, time moves rather differently, almost slower. However, this is an incremental thing, he's noticed. The longer one stays within the blank dimension, the slower time goes by. So, instantaneous use keeps it on par with earth's time. However, prolonged exposure within the blank verse will dilate time relative to the universes outside it. A minute will turn into two. An hour into a day. A month into years. A year into a millennium. And so on. Thus, Fox jumps in and out as fast as possible.
• Fox doesn't quite know what horrors lay in his ability, as he's only been into one dimension and so far it's relatively safe, from his vantage. Yet there are things lurking in his mind, in his peripheral vision. The more he uses it the more things he tends to see, especially in reflective surfaces.
• He tends to lose his things inside the blankverse. Drop something in there, chances are you're not gonna find it any time soon. At least, if you do, it won't have changed much! Maybe. Time is weird.
• Using his portals to transport other people can drain Fox of his energy almost entirely, causing him to fall into a haze or unconsciousness, in rare cases.
• The universe can only bend so far. Or, rather, Fox can only bend two points so far. The length of the trip inside the universe correlates with how far Fox is traveling. So, naturally, Fox can only really travel a short distance without weird time-dilation (that being at least a half mile radius).

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"St. Jude, maybe I've always been more comfortable in chaos."

A Slightly Round Table

Love is worth a little girl's smile

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Clarence Daily - Eden Gardens

⧉ Send My Love - Adele ⧉ Stone Cold - Demi Lovato ⧉ Yellow - Coldplay ⧉

_{"Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously near to wanting nothing."}

- Sylvia Plath

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_{❱ ❱ ❱ N A M E ❱ ❱ ❱}

Clarence Crawford Daily

_{❱ ❱ ❱ A G E ❱ ❱ ❱}

32

_{❱ ❱ ❱ G E N D E R ❱ ❱ ❱}

Male

_{❱ ❱ ❱ S E X U A L I T Y ❱ ❱ ❱}

Homosexual

_{❱ ❱ ❱ O C C U P A T I O N ❱ ❱ ❱}

Police Detective

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_{❱ ❱ ❱ A P P E A R A N C E ❱ ❱ ❱}

All strapping lad and charming dad in one complete package. There's something compelling in the arched back, wide set shoulders, and small waist of Detective Daily. Covered in pinstripe suits (on sale, of course) and pomade, with a spritz of cologne that smells undoubtedly like a JC Penny's, Clarence Daily doesn't necessarily command that great of a presence. However, it can't be said that he doesn't demand some kind of attention. After all, despite the cheap businessman knock-off he has going for himself, some of his 'charm' owes a lot to his inherent confidence. Or rather, his astuteness in his own field - everything else is up for question.

Outside of his professional getup, Clarence commands a better eye for casual detail. Days spent with a friend making sure his closet didn't scream 'DAD' means Clarence treads the line of 'Too old for hipster crap' and 'Mid-life Crisis Frat Boy' very, very carefully. He cut the line at skinny jeans and it's helped tremendously. Shirts that are this size too small in the summer, with jeans that hug but don't constrict, a pair of cheap glasses that fake expensive Aviators with the best of 'em, make up most of Clarence's closet. He contains a whole other collection of winter wear, from regal pea coats to fluffy jumpers, and a number of sweaters that range from stylish to comfortably worn.

On a man his size, it doesn't do harm to lessen that intimidation factor by layering on a ton of winter clothes. Despite a chubby phase through the beginning of college, Clarence didn't do quite so bad when it came to his genes (determination being a prominent one). From a glance Clarence cuts a fine figure: torso heavy with sinewy arms, a skinnier waist than usual with legs that have seen their fair share of 5K's, an abundance of muscles that aid in giving Clarence a wide birth. Pale skin covers heavily in his features, with fine hairs coating his limbs and a spatter on his chest and stomach. Careful consideration in clothing choice and it's not hard to fill out most of his clothes in just the right way.

With a face of mostly hard, defined angles and low hanging, square jaw it's hard to see the smoothness in Clarence's complexion. The sharp nose, jutting over a wide, cupid's bow pair of lips throw heavy shadows on the curve of his cheeks. Shrewd eyes sink beneath crisp line of his eyebrows, plagued by the purple bruise of bags and the stretch of crows feet that hang a dullness over the vibrant blue. Though masculine in feature, Clarence can't deny the gentle contrast of long eyelashes and smooth skin only moderately addled by age lines that mottle his forehead. The glow of health only intensifies under the paleness of his features, even beneath the brush of facial hair that sometimes dusts his cleft chin and hardened jaw. Most of all that's apparent is the tired hang of laugh lines, the upturned curve of his lip, and the hunch in his shoulders that give a close inspection a clue as to how much stress comes with both the job of a detective and the title of a single father.

_{❱ ❱ ❱ H A B I T S ⥌ Q U I R K S ❱ ❱ ❱}

❖ Smoking; it's an awful habit that's he's trying to get rid of.
❖ Has a tendency to take things literally - to an insufferable degree.
❖ Chews on whatever's in his hand at the time. Most everything, at least.
❖ When using a blanket, Clarence has a habit of wrapping his entire self in the covers.

_{❱ ❱ ❱ L I K E S ❱ ❱ ❱}

❖ Flowers; things move too fast sometimes, so there's something to be said about caring for a plant. They demand without force and need without want beyond the necessities - plants expect simplicity and that's enough for a man bogged down in everyday complexities.
❖ Winter; cold weather calls for bundling up and there's nothing better than the comfort of layers to add a modest security. If the world stretches thin with paranoia, at least their's the certainty of warmth for the cold.
❖ Warm Drinks; nothing warms the soul like a good, hot cup of anything. He's currently weening himself off of smoking and Clarence finds warm drinks (like tea, coffee, or hot chocolate) have the most positive effect for him.
❖ 80s Pop; a weird one, but one he finds gets his blood pumping for a work out. Also helps lighten his mood and his limbs. Just don't catch him dancing; his face turns a magnificent color red.❖ Sweaters; any kind of sweater is a good sweater, but mostly those fleece or wool sweaters. Those are the goddamned warmest.

_{❱ ❱ ❱ D I S L I K E S ❱ ❱ ❱}

❖ Smoking; it's a bad habit and he avoids smoking like the plague.
❖ Abandoned Coffee; nothing tastes worse than lukewarm coffee. That washed out taste not only ruins his mood, but ruins his breath (more than regular coffee would, in the first place).
❖ Clutter; due to his more than clumsy nature, Clarence has a tendency to stub his toe more on average than a regular human. So, to minimize the risk, he minimizes the amount of stray corners he can nearly break his pinky toe on.
❖ Off-white; it's a weird dislike, but it reminds him of clouding an apartment in smoke and seeing the once crisp, white, plaster walls turn a sickly off-white yellow. He's disliked the color ever since.
❖ Losing Things; Clarence has everything filed down to a T, so losing things infuriates him.

_{❱ ❱ ❱ B I G G E S T F E A R ❱ ❱ ❱}

Complacency; not necessarily in his own achievements but in a mediocre living. He's afraid of becoming complacent in a life he didn't want to begin with, or in simply being content with a life where he has yet to achieve his goals - where he'd abandoned his goals for lesser ones. Ones he didn't come up with in the first place. Living with parents who always thought they knew best and who urged him to do things he never wanted in the first place cultivated this fear in his early teens. Only when realizing he'd succumbed to those fears had he realized his own mistakes. Occasionally, Clarence becomes desperate to keep himself from sinking to those lows ever again and often loses sight in himself and others around him.

_{❱ ❱ ❱ P E R S O N A L I T Y ❱ ❱ ❱}

As a young boy, it's not hard to find a dream - or multiple ones. For Clarence that dream fluctuated often; a constant up-down dynamic with each phase lasting years at a time. Clearly, he'd found his passion quite early on and, even in finding a depression in it, he held the torch of his early dreams close to his chest. The skills he learned, the talents, often carried him through life easily, while, on occasion, also burdened him in other areas. Both the pursuit of knowledge and the drive of curiosity featured heavily in Clarence's personal building blocks - his foundation, as a person. That, in itself, lead to a numerous amount of accomplishments and further building of knowledge throughout his years in education.

However, that drive had a knack for lacking an off-switch. Thus, Clarence found burnouts often and with a frequency that shoved Clarence in a bed for days on end. Studying, homework, research not only got done in advance, but despite this vigilance, they continued to pile. Clarence thrived on work, yet he worked endlessly. Diligence drove Clarence into the ground more times than he had fingers and toes. This not only branched into his academics, but further spread into his social life. Relationships meant tireless work and that held his partners, his friends, to an extremely high expectation. He wasn't one for perfection, but Clarence couldn't simply sit around doing nothing. (When the show Parks and Rec hit daytime TV, many of his friends were quick to label him the male version of Leslie Knope; he wasn't one to refute the notion, though he knew he couldn't achieve that much whimsy.)

In older years, when the time came to settle down, Clarence had an undeniable fear towards his own acceptance. By his family. By his friends. By society, as a whole. Though his drive and determination were one for the record books, not much could be said for his own self-confidence. He succumbed to the pressures of his mind and of his family, settled down with a girl, got an office job, and ran himself into the ground. A degree for criminal justice hung unused in his office and his dreams had slowly been swallowed by his own fears. It took years into a marriage before he could start climbing back up, which started with quitting his job and stirring a boiling pot with his wife. It took another year before he became a detective for the local police force and by then he'd already dug his own life into an early grave. A daughter on the way caused him to hesitate until four years into her life, he decided to come to terms with himself.

Now free of burdens, Clarence gained a new found wisdom in life. Complacency isn't a thing to be proud of, but neither is tireless work with no pay off. It took a bit of conditioning before Clarence allowed himself little moments to relax. Whether by watching the sunset or watering his plants, Clarence always took time to wind down and allow himself to appreciate having something to live for. Having the confidence to be who he was always meant to be and chase a dream still alive in his mind and his heart. Sure, that burned a lot of bridges, but it eventually created new ones and he hadn't lost everything he'd built up. In fact, everything he did lose just made room for things he actually cared for. Like a home to himself, a job he's wanted since he was a kid, and the opportunity to watch his daughter grow up.

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_{❱ ❱ ❱ B A C K G R O U N D ❱ ❱ ❱}

Uneventful, mostly. Summed up, Clarence adolescence up to his high school years ended up mostly with his nose stuck in a book. Academics had always been an important part of Clarence's life and quite early on, he learned to have an appreciation for learning. In all honesty, Clarence was kind of a boring kid. He was the type to spend most of his days studying, reading, and generally being a good student.

The introvert in him shied away from most socialization, preferring solitude and close friends over crowded events. Thus, the relationships he did make, though few and far between, tended to last. Those with his family, however, seemed more than strained. An overall conservative family with a flair for tight-knit, neighborhood community blew all the energy out of their eldest child all for the sake of coaxing him out of his shell. And yet, in spite of their comforting words, they only thinly veiled the judgment inherent in their personalities - after all, living in a community driven suburbia fueled gossip like no other. As he grew older and the years drew shorter, Clarence drew further in when it came to his confidence and self-assurance - only ever pressured by his parents when it came to living up to their expectations.

The only saving grace came with having understanding siblings with similar minds. Though both had outgoing personalities - or appeared so, in Murphy's case - they hadn't appreciated the pressure wrought on by both parents. The need to represent an ideal family, one molded in the image both mother and father demanded, worked less to unify and more to estrange their children. It further drove them to seek other forms of acceptance, in each other first and then in the friends they made as they moved on from the household. With connections maintained (somewhat with their parents) and their own goals to pursue, it gradually got more difficult to reach the kind of understanding they had as kids. Still, when one needed the other, they'd reach out and they'd listen. What mattered was the attempt to understand and even in their own disagreements, they did find solace in each other.

As time continued stepping forward, Clarence eventually let himself dig too deep. In doing so, the rope that tied him to each of his loved ones grew taught and thin. Crowded in himself and the subconscious need for acceptance, Clarence succumbed to his parents' wishes; after the numerous calls and conversations over holiday dinners, the pressure burdened his shoulders far too much. Giving up his dreams was only the first step and eventually Clarence found himself settled down with someone whom he could likely never love. Someone he grew to resent despite her effort. The steady climb started out of a burning guilt toward himself; he'd lost so much to crippling fear - to pressure - that he couldn't live with himself if he simply grew complacent with a life he didn't want in the first place.

Eventual responsibility hindered his pace - even if the child that came along would never be a hindrance to his goals. That responsibility lay in providing a family and a good, ample space to grow up. That slowing in pace didn't do well for Clarence's mental health and despite his improving career and the steps he took to achieve a dream he'd had since his younger days. The opportunity to finally break off the cycle of pressure, fear, and stress didn't come until much later in his daughter's life.

He'd asked himself many, many times how he could smile so brightly when filing for divorce. Any other person who'd caught their spouse cheating would have taken the ordeal a hell of a lot worse. And yet, Clarence felt like he was signing some kind of emancipation. The real ordeal had been in fighting for custody and actually splitting the money evenly. While he achieved a majority of Aria's time, he still had to wallow in the weekends he could no longer see her. Despite the stress of trying to achieve full custody, Clarence spent the days he could mellowing out. That meant buying a new apartment, coming out to both friends and family, and finding a job with coworkers he actually liked. That last part's still in the works, however.

Settling down in Eden Gardens had been an obvious choice. Despite its close proximity to the university, it also boasted a rather safe neighborhood. Even if the rides to Aria's elementary school took longer than necessary, the opportunity to raise his daughter in a healthy environment was too good to pass up. Even with the college residents, he found enough peace and quiet in his daily routine to alleviate the built up stress and allow himself a decently healthy lifestyle. Or, at least, enough to keep from drowning himself in work until he nearly died of exhaustion - he had a kid to take care of, after all.

_{❱ ❱ ❱ R E L A T I O N S ❱ ❱ ❱}

Relationship Status - Recently Divorced
Partner - N/A
Father - Ronald Daily [66; Office Branch Manager]
Mother - Delilah Daily [68; Local News Reporter]
Siblings - Roger Daily [21; Classical Music Composer]; Murphy Daily [27; Aeronautical Engineer]
Pet/s - Ginger Rogers
Other - Arianna Daily-Pierce [6; Child]

_{❱ ❱ ❱ E X T R A ❱ ❱ ❱}

❖ Clarence has slight heterochromia. Both eyes are a crisp shade of blue, but the left one contains a large chunk that's dark brown.
❖ Clarence is allergic to alcohol - or rather, he has an alcoholic intolerance. The enzymes in his liver can't convert alcohol into acetic acid, making it rather toxic to his body - at least, in moderate to high doses.
❖ Clarence's Spirit Animal: Eagle.
❖ Arianna takes quite a bit from her father, yet what he lacks in creativity she more than makes up for. She's quite the imaginative girl, a little too curious for her own good, and, while intelligent for her age, isn't way above par compared to other kids in her class. Most of all, she's somewhat aware of her father's situation and does her best to help out when she can - even if it's just by drawing a picture or helping out with breakfast. Aria's a tad stubborn, though, and even when told something doesn't work, she likes to figure it out for herself; she's got a little independent streak going for her that can end up rather aggravating.

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Detailed Relationships

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"Sweet kid. Couldn't see him hurting a fly, unless that fly personally assaulted his sister. Real good with kids, or at least with Arianna."

Nothing much to say here, other than Clarence appreciates every bit of work Alex does for him, even if it mostly consists of watching Aria when Clarence has her for the weekdays. It's not usually an issue for him, seeing as she goes to school and he comes home just an hour after classes end for the day. She stays at the after school care for most of the time. However, there tends to be days where Clarence can't see himself coming home anywhere near on time, usually he knows when those days happen in advance and is able to call either Alex or his sister to see if they can pick Aria up at 4:30. It's only happened occasionally, once every few months, but the times work springs up on him with little warning are the days he cherishes the twins, especially Alex. He's been nothing but kind and courteous and an absolute godsend on days he can't make it home until late at night and is unable to give good forewarning.

He makes sure to tape a bar of chocolate on their door and a thank you note (after paying them both, of course) as often as he can spare. Weather and AC permitting, of course.

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"A misanthrope. She's got some fire, at least. The good thing, though, is that she stays out of actual, real trouble"

A girl with distaste for authority. Or, at least rules and guidelines. Honestly, though, for all that fire and distaste, Clarence hasn't actually witnessed Abby do anything... truly illegal, in the sense that she's a dangerous individual. She's just blunt, a rebel, and extremely stubborn. She watched her closely the first time he met her, earned her ire for it, and backed off when he figured she wasn't looking to actually go around acting like a hoodlum. He does his best to give her a wide berth and just generally give her space she both needs and wants. Not necessarily ignoring her, but then again, Clarence is 100% positive she'd prefer that to anything else. Despite accusations of bribing her with delicious snacks and Clarence's denial and constant excuse of, "They just gave me more than I ordered," he still always makes room in his carry out for Abby and Alex.

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"If I can count on anyone to both simultaneously look at me as if I've grown a second head while also undressing me with their eyes, I mean... Cassandra's got that covered."

Being a year long resident, Clarence has known Cassandra for the entire month she moved in. Doesn't know much about her, but he knows her. He does his best to make nice with everyone and is kinda the type to spend money getting people food. Being the wall of muscle he is, Clarence volunteered to help move most of Cassandra's heavy furniture into her house and offered to do so again any time she required the assistance. Afterwards, he bought her a whole pizza and sat in silence while they both ate. She has a tendency to look at him funny, and it's hard to tell whether she's spaced or is actively staring at him. Clarence, however, is definitely used to it by now.

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"You get used to the 'Dad' thing. Luckily, Jack only ever calls me 'Officer', though the 'Sir' is kind of pushing it."

There are a lot of people in the complex that call him Dad - and few he's urged, very sternly, not to call him Daddy - so it's no surprise that a few look to him as a father figure. A lot of them tend to vary around college age and most actually do attend college. While it's obvious he isn't quite old enough to be their actual fathers, Clarence has no qualms with potentially being considered such. One person he definitely has no issues with: Jack. Not only is Jack undoubtedly kind, he's smart and really good with his daughter. Arianna's creative, but she's always taken to building things and her curiosity is insurmountable. Jack does a great deal sating that curiosity and she always comes back asking her questions he has absolutely no answers to. It's nice when your own kid stumps you with trivia on a weekly basis, means she's gonna go far and has more than smarts to take her there.

He's mistimed it a few times, but Clarence is usually punctual whenever he leaves a carton of ice cream hanging on Jack's door handle after one of his classes.

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"Kid's a ghost. Literally. Any time he sees me he looks about ready to drop dead."

The most likely scenario for Kimberly's attitude around him: he's got weed somewhere in his apartment. When he doesn't actually see Clarence, Kim's usually calm and abnormally quiet. He's still quiet once Clarence passes, but he's more than likely to retreat into meerkat mode and slink back into his apartment. Literally, all the cops he knows has at least done something terribly stupid within the day, so Clarence understands what mistakes are. Hell, most of them smoked marijuana through out their high school career. So, to try and stave off any worries about getting caught doing something likely benign, Clarence tries his best to be a calming force whenever he roams the halls and catches sight of Kimberly. Of course, he doesn't really know why Kim acts the way he does and isn't one to pry, so he leaves the kid to his own devices.

However, any time he makes a pass by the local coffee shop or Starbucks, he makes sure to order an extra if he knows Kim's due home from work the same time he is. Those days, Aria usually blackmails her dad into getting her an extra chunky chocolate chip muffin.

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"I don't mind her. Doesn't mean I talk to her."

To an investigative mind like Clarence, Quinn isn't exactly the enigma she claims to be. Or rather, she doesn't claim to be anything but herself. Still, a lot of people don't know her or her motivations - Clarence only mildly included. He doesn't like to pry when he's not welcome and with Quinn, he's usually not welcome to do anything but spare a passing 'Hello'. It's a weird kind of agreement. They don't hate each other, but they don't like each other either. She's nice to his daughter, at least, whenever she has the time to say hello, at least it's in a sweet voice.

On occasion, he's dug enough into a background check ('cause he's not dumb and he screens a lot of the residents himself, despite it... kind of being illegal. He doesn't go too far, just enough to determine whether they're not going to be of any harm to his daughter) to eek out a journalism degree, but that's really it. Again, Clarence still values privacy, but he can't help digging just a bit - so far it's usually only past criminal records, jobs, and education. Regardless, he's at least attempted to slip in some connection to places she might not have checked in order to help her push herself to achieve her own dreams.

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"Hey, so, don't let the daughter fool you, but I'm gay."

His likely first words ever, to her. On occasion, he'll remember and laugh about it in private, but Clarence assumes it's still a rather big embarrassment for Doris. Still, he likes talking with her and her blunt nature can provide some pretty decent laughs. It's nice seeing assholes fall flat on... well, their asses when they're persistent and Doris is obviously not interested. They get along rather well, despite their first fiasco, and Clarence appreciates her company probably more than most in the complex.

Often times, he'll tune in when he knows she's working and occasionally that means during his usual Friday Nights spent making homemade pizza with Aria. He'll dance with his daughter, jive, and sing his absolute ass off. And when she happens to be home, unlike most residents, she'll join in from across the hall 'cause he happens to listen music she actually likes. On occasion he'll ask her what musical she suggests 'cause he so happens to maybe wanna see something sometime whenever and totally not because he enjoys her enthusiasm for theatre and music, in general.

Because he's apparently the resident dad, Clarence obviously doesn't help himself at all when he sits down for an entire day off without Arianna and listens to entire tracks to Broadway musicals. Then he proceeds to walk precisely when he knows Doris is up and awake down the hall to start out a morning jog and belts out whatever musical he's feeling that day, throughout the hall (this is usually when everyone is awake, luckily) and happily continues when he hears her join in.

Yeah and he wonders exactly why everyone calls him Dad all the goddamn time.

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"It just takes a little push."

All these college kids and every one of them thinking he's some special guy with all the answers. Well, truth be told, Clarence doesn't know shit, but at least he's kind enough to actually tell them he doesn't know rather than feed someone bullshit. Of course, what he does know, he'll gladly give advice for and what he does know is diligence and the importance of hard work. For Clarence it's extremely easy to take a stern role in Max's life, while also not coming off as overbearing. Being an investigator makes it easy to read people, sometimes, or at least, easy to read body language and cues. Most of the time, he knows when to back off.

Knowing Max has a bit of a party issue, Clarence took a few... liberties stealing his school schedule from under his nose the moment he got it, printing off a copy, and making sure the guy's up and off his ass an hour before class starts. As long as Clarence can find time to do it, he has no qualms with busting in and dragging the kid into a pair of clean clothes and risk being late to make sure he actually gets to class on time.

But, he's also one to make sure Max understand the meaning of food and indulges him in family size packs of chips or an entire bag filled to the brim with chocolate. Hey, a guy who's rather in shape can risk a few empty calories here and there.

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"It's that judge a book by its cover and then totally regret ever judging another human being again kind of situations."

One thing Clarence prides himself on: being able to read people and do it well. It's why he's an investigator. Clarence has an eye for picking out things people miss and not giving up when things look simple, plain, and 100% discovered. Unfortunately, he does have his slip ups and Nathan is a prime example of that. He considered the guy a dolt when he first met him, and wondered exactly how he could ever walk two feet out of his front door without creating an entire disaster.

And boy was he wrong.

After spending a year in Nathan's company, Clarence has gotten a quick dose of reality. The guy's a genius, self-sufficient, working on his PhD, and can support himself alone working as a barista. And here Clarence is with a daughter he shouldn't have (but would die for), years of his life wasted in an unhappy marriage, only just now able to chase his dreams, and trying to support his daughter while also taking on the burden everyone else carries?

Seriously, no one appreciate's Nathan's company like Clarence does. A good laugh does him good and Nathan's helpful nature has gotten Clarence out of a tight spot more times than he can count. To be honest, yeah Clarence is kinda looked on as the father figure by other people, but the real Samaritan comes in the form of a goofball barista willing to drop everything to help out a stranger. And a lot of the times, he goes unnoticed for that. Clarence makes sure Nathan knows he's got a friend in him, one who appreciates the things he does.

On the weekends, whenever Clarence is feeling down without his daughter should she be at her mothers, he often finds himself at Nathan's door with a bag of groceries for whatever dish he's feeling. Nathan doesn't seem the type to turn him away and he usually doesn't, so they end up cranking the volume on the radio or iPod, cooking a meal for two, and hanging out watching whatever dumb show's on Netflix. Clarence has no funny ideas about Nathan's sexuality, but if he did swing that way, Clarence would have probably asked the guy on a date the second time Nathan tried to impress him at Mundo. He's certainly a catch, in spite of first impressions.

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"People don't realize it, but it's pretty easy to tell when someone's checking you out. I'm pretty sure if I came out naked, he wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

Just looking at the kid makes Clarence frown. But not out of contempt, or anything petty like that, but mostly of concern. He's fairly new and he's refrained on any background checks; to be honest, the kid looks more of a danger to himself than anyone else. Of course, Clarence doesn't mention that. It's rude and kind of disrespectful to expect someone to air their grievances just because someone notices. He doesn't mind the stares, though, he understands and has been on that side of the fence plenty of time. Hell, just the other day he's pretty sure he... uh...

Anyway, Clarence does his best to do little things for the guy. Whether that's making sure he's had his dinner, letting the kid mooch off his Netflix account and wireless internet, or just smiling at him. Letting him know there's someone just a few doors down that's willing to at least bask in good ol' comfortable silence. Of course, most of that silence is probably going to be filled with Lewis attempting to be subtle while trying to fantasize what it's like to have someone as tall and imposing as Clarence hovering over him in a totally sexual way. As long as the kid doesn't call him 'Daddy.' His daughter calls him that... please... for the sake of his sanity...

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"I... I don't like owing people things. I just hope the day I decide to take him up on his offer, that those pictures aren't exactly on the house. Just in my house."

Well, Clarence doesn't exactly know much about Rucks other than that he's a pretty friendly guy. Good to talk to and takes amazing photos. Really, between what he does for everyone, his daughter, the whole fiasco with his ex-wife, and his job, it's hard to make time for... well, everyone else. Of course, Clarence does make sure he takes the time to speak and do something for everyone that's on his floor, at least. Rucks happens to be one of those people and, well, he really doesn't know Rucks enough to aid him with much other than that he likes taking pictures. If he finds Rucks inspired by moment Clarence happens to be right in the middle of, he does his best not to notice 'cause candid pictures are usually the best. At least, that's what he heard. He's not the time to preen, either, and kind of shies away from cameras. Of course, any time Rucks offers, Clarence usually declines unless Rucks actively states a dollar amount. In which case, Clarence has no issues shelling out money for a few photos of him and his daughter. Of course, he's pretty sure Rucks knows he won't say no as long as he gives Clarence some kind of price. It's left Clarence with way too many pictures to hang around the house and leaves him suspicious that Rucks is purposefully selling him these pictures at a highly discounted rate.

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"I'm mildly glad people go to her for desserts. I'm a terrible baker, but hey, at least I can make a mean risotto."

Meeting Vanessa was a bit...

Well, it was kind of...

To be frank, Clarence really...

What's a good way to explain. Really, incredibly awkward? Kinda like talking to someone who thinks every word they say is some kind of flirtation that's unwanted. However, that was only the first meeting and Clarence quickly bulldozed over any kind of awkward advances by straight coming out to her. It's made interactions between them a lot easier and smoother, for the most part. She's still quiet, kind of tends to look at things deeply and for long periods of time. After a few times hanging out with her, eating her food and letting Arianna help bake, he's noticed Vanessa isn't exactly what everyone presumes her to be. Now, Clarence doesn't exactly know what that entails, but he thinks she appreciates that he doesn't see her as a stereotypical introvert. Just because it's hard talking to people doesn't mean you don't want to, is usually the point.

Because Vanessa is the type to share food willingly and overcook for that exact reason and Clarence hates owing people things for longer than a week, he's usually at her door the next day with a plate of dinner hot and ready just for her (and by extension Nathan because he often falls right in line with Vanessa in those regards). He likes it when he's got Arianna and she's getting ready to make some kind of dessert 'cause it means he gets to see her in an environment she most likely prefers, is comfortable in, and is willing to let herself indulge in what she wants out of a relationship. That's likely mostly Clarence's doing, as he tends to push her into asking what she wants, rather than telling her what he wants because most of the time Clarence just wants to see his daughter enjoy herself and Vanessa provides that plenty.

He loves coming by whenever he's got a great baking recipe he found in order to convince her to make it. For... for Arianna, of course. Definitely not for his own consumption.

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"I... w- um. Well, okay. Deep breaths, Clarence. One. Two. Three."

Alright, so their first incident didn't go off so well. Living next to a guy that literally uproots his entire house just to find a pair of keys doesn't bode well for anyone involved. Especially when you're the sole reason why a six year old little girl is smacking her father on the cheeks and telling him he needs to go stop that rude man from playing whack a mole with his floorboards. "Moles are people too," were her exact words. Not only did he make sure his knocks were heard, but the moment Fletcher opened the door to his absolute hell house, Clarence knew this man needed something. Whether that was a firm punch to the face or some HGTV renovation crew, Clarence didn't know. It took him about two seconds to find the guy's keys, all of which Fletcher spent his time staring at the redness of Clarence's chest and face.

Their second meeting, however, went off a bit better, with a formal apology and bribery of cookies for him and his daughter dangling in his face. Okay, so the guy isn't half-bad, but Clarence has his reservations.